Lullaby
by cheysiu
Summary: A baby changes everything. CeCe isn't sure she's ready for that.
1. Chapter 1

It isn't until she has to get up in the middle of the night to vomit, twice, for three days in a row, that she starts wondering. It's two days later that she sneaks out of the studio under the guise of getting a soda (which she is, really, just, that's not what she really—) and walks into the nearby gas station, picking up the little purple box that reads First Response. Fifteen dollars later and she's standing in a gas station bathroom, staring at a stick and the two little pink lines—lines, she thinks, and re-reads the directions on the side of the box, just—double checking—but no, the plastic stick in her hand is telling her Congratulations! You're pregnant!

She closes her eyes and sinks to the floor, not caring about how dirty it is.

It's not like it's unheard of for girls to have babies out of wedlock but she didn't want it to happen to her, is the thing. CeCe hadn't thought about it, back when Gunther—when Gunther forgot—she hadn't even thought of the possibility. It was just the one time that he forgot and—

CeCe goes through the rest of her day the same as ever, ignoring the slight cramp above her hip—she knows what that is now—and the headache she's had for maybe a week—because she knows why she has that now too. She tries to smile as everyone around him grins and smiles and says, "New routine is coming along great, CeCe!" She just smiles and nods at their remarks. CeCe is the main choreographer for Shake It Up, Chicago! What time isn't spent at the studio teaching is spent in meetings with the producers, agencies, and all other boring people. That's where she currently finds herself. She's tired and thinks maybe that's the baby too, but then stops, because she's thinking about—she can't—a baby.

It's been nearly two-and-a-half months since she's seen Gunther. And the father—the other father—is Gunther. It has to be, CeCe doesn't even need to wonder, or think, or calculate. There's nobody else—there's never been anyone else, even if, even if they're not together, or, or—or whatever. Se lets her imagination wonder what Gunther will say for a few seconds, and then snaps her eyes open and sits up straighter in her chair, her assistant, Sarah, looking up at her from across the table, images of prospective dancers strewn across it haphazardly.

"CeCe?" she says. "You okay?"

No—and it's barely thirty seconds later that she's puking into a basket Gary has thrown at her, and Sarah is rubbing her back, saying, "Oh, it's okay, shh."

She desperately wants to believe that it is, but somehow, knows that it isn't, and telling Gunther—that's something she can't do. She starts to cry, and hopes that this—crying and puking and the cramps and the stress of everything, being sick, missing her old friends, just—everything—won't last for very long. But the real question is how long she can keep anyone from noticing it's happening in the first place.

And why.

She goes back to her crumby apartment early, after she overhears Sarah arguing on the phone to make it happen. ("She's sick and exhausted! We've been working her too hard lately, just give her a day!") It's not like she's really that important right now. Her weekly routines are finished. The other choreographers can do anything she can. Sarah and everyone else can decide on whatever was going on in that meeting. She never disagrees with what they decide to do anyway, so. When she gets home though, she can't sleep at all, and ends up watching old episodes of Jimmy Neutron on Nickelodeon in-between crying and yelling at her pillow.

If she does the math right, and she's think it's like, basic elementary math, so she's pretty sure she's doing it right—she's in her third month. She does some research, logging on the internet whenever she can manage to get time alone. She can't—she doesn't look at anything about the baby really, her stomach too tied in knots to let her. She skips to the information about what the mother is supposed to be expecting when, um, expecting. She's supposed to start gaining weight, apparently, in the third month, but she hasn't yet—not that she can tell, anyway. That's what she's scared of the most, beyond the headaches and nausea and frequent bathroom breaks. Really, what's going to happen when she suddenly starts carrying a basketball around under her shirt? She can't—she can't hide that forever, and she's kind of in the, the public eye, sort of, so she's going to be found out any day now, what does she do? As such a well known choreographer, she's one of the most sought after young celebrities in the dance universe. But she can't—she can't think about that, if she does, she'll go crazy. There's more important things right now—the show, for one. She's worked— Everyone, everyone's worked so hard on it, to make it known all over the country as the best dance show on television-no longer just Chicago. She can't ruin it just because she forgot to tell Gunther to use protection three months ago.

Everything's incredibly busy right now, but she breaches the topic with Sarah anyway. Not—not thats he's pregnant—she doesn't know how she's going to tell her that, or—or anyone, even, she doesn't want to think about it, she can't think about it. Which is why she's decided to make the move—permanent.

She's been looking at houses here in Chicago since she was seventeen. She's nineteen now, has a steady job and paycheck, and she didn't want to tie herself down in one location before, but she isn't going to have the luxury of traveling anywhere for much longer. Basically that's what she tells Sarah when she's asking her to help find her a house. She's tired—she's tired of living in different crappy apartments for more than half the year and she can't live with her mother again, there's no point in that.

She doesn't really care where she lives. She knows she doesn't want it to be some huge mansion or whatever, and as long as there's a fence and trees or bushes or whatever to dodge the unpredictable paparazzi when they get, um, excitable, she's happy. Sarah drags her around Chicago to like fifty different places though, and they're all either huge or open or, er, really weird. Like, there was one with triangular shaped rooms? She doesn't know how someone could live in a triangle, how would you push things against the wall, or whatever? That's just weird.

She ends up finding one, finally, that only has two floors and isn't that big, although the yard is kind of huge, twice the size of the house, easy. But it's pretty, and has a smallish kind of room right next to the master bedroom, where she can put a nursery for the—baby. The realtor guy who has been running around the city with them all day had suggested turning into a master bath instead, but CeCe shook her head and said, "No, I just want to move in. No, um, construction or anything. It's kind of perfect the way it is."

She liked the kitchen—it was big enough that she didn't think she'd run into anything when she gets up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, something she's always done. And the bathroom is just down the hall from her room anyway, so that's good. The living room is really big, and has a fireplace (like, electrical, not with real wood, that wouldn't be safe for crawling infants, CeCe is pretty sure—) and a window that's sort of, um, outward, and she can see how a Christmas tree right there would be really nice, so. It takes two hours to sign all the paperwork and then two more for the realtor to get back to them that the owner is more than happy to sell the house to CeCe. (Probably because she's buying it all at once? She had the money thanks to her big SIUC paychecks and monetary advice from her lifetime best friend.)

Moving in doesn't take too long—the house was empty and all the legal stuff goes through really quickly. CeCe isn't sure if that's how it usually works or if her management did something to make it go quicker, but either way, she's glad she has her own house all the sudden. Her mom is kind of—she's a little upset, when she tells her, but she can tell she's okay with it. She's nineteen, and—it's not like she isn't ready.

Her first night all by herself in the house is kind of—weird. It's just—it's not a apartment, or his mom's apartment, or a friends' house, it's hers. She spends most of the night unpacking, before making the bed and getting under the covers, quickly tweeting All moved in! Exhausted, goodnight!

It's not really a problem that night, maybe because she was so tired? But the pregnancy hormones are driving her a little crazy. It's like—she's constantly just—she went through the formative teenage years, okay, so she knows what it's like to get turned on by anything and everything, but this whole thing is awful. She's pregnant; she shouldn't be all whatever all the time, hot and achy and irritable.

Add this to the list of things she hates about this situation.

Sarah is smiling when CeCe lets out a long breath after three interviews and a photoshoot. She's tired and relieved that they're over, and then Sarah says, "So, you ready for that live interview at Chicago Radio?"

She wishes she was ready for anything but falling into her bed and sleeping for hours and hours and hours. Of course she goes with her anyway, and when the interviewer asks, "So, you still haven't had that first kiss—" she winces at the embarrassing 'fact' that spread about her a year ago, when she first blew up in the celebrity world, and instead of shaking her head like always, she smiles kind of shakily and says, "I think—no, yeah, I have. But um, it wasn't—it wasn't a big deal. So can we not—I mean, next question?"

And it wasn't—it wasn't a big deal. It was just a—thing, that she and Gunther have done since—since senior year, and it's never been anything but that. It's never been something she talked about or him talked about or—that whole dimension of their relationship used to

just disappear after it was over. It never felt like lying when she said she hadn't been kissed, even though Gunther had kissed her—kissed her everywhere, on the mouth and down at her neck and running long trails down her chest or arms or anywhere he could reach, practically, Gunther really liked to—the point is, it had never felt like lying, because it wasn't—it wasn't real, it was something they put in a box and didn't talk about, didn't bring into the open.

It's only now that CeCw doesn't really have a choice. This thing—it's a baby. She can't put it in a box and hide it in her closet until Gunther calls her up and says, "Come on, I need to see you, I need—"

She can't pretend it doesn't matter anymore.

It's bigger than she thought it was.


	2. Chapter 2

She's totally not expecting it when a week after she buys her house—like, starts sleeping there and moving all her stuff in, that is—the doorbell rings and her little, um, video thing that Sarah made her get ("Because of stalkers, CeCe! I'm installing the video surveillance, you have no choice.") shows a black and white image of Gunther standing outside her house. His car is in the driveway, and CeCe can even see Ty there, and she thinks Ty's carrying like five pizza boxes—she spares a second to think. How much do they eat?—before logic kicks in and she goes to open the door.

"Hey," Gunther says, arm up as if he was about to start knocking on the wood as well, just in case CeCe hadn't heard the doorbell. He's grinning, and even though—even though CeCe was totally planning on glaring, and saying, "No way are you having a party at my house, Gunther!" (because when she opens the door, she can see Deuce there too, hands in his pockets, and who knows who else is coming, just later) she can't do anything but stand in her entrance way dumbly, something like butterflies swirling in her stomach.

"Um," is alls he ends up saying before Gunther pushes his way through and is wrapping his arms around CeCe tightly, all warmth and hard chest and slightly scratchy chin, pulling away finally to say, grinning, "Can't really live in a new house until you've had a housewarming party, CeCe."

She can't help but agree.

They watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off, because it's apparently one of Gunther and Ty's favorites, and CeCe makes the mistake of admitting she's never seen it. (That's after the tour anyway, which Gunther insists on having, so they all saw the mess in the kitchen where she was mixing ice cream and honey together and she has no idea why she wanted that but it's amazing and delicious so she just flushes when everyone laughs. Deuce said something about being a secret sugar fan, which she's not, and besides, she thinks Deuce was talking about something more, um, perverted, and she just didn't get it, because all three guys cracked up and nearly died and the popcorn totally would have burned if CeCe hadn't saved it.) It's horrible though. Not the movie, she's sure the movie would be really awesome if she could actually concentrate on it. But no, she can't do the normal thing and watch the movie, because Gunther is too busy being Gunther and ruining CeCe's entire life without even noticing.

He is sitting next to her on the couch and Ty is on his other side. There's totally space in-between Gunther and Ty, but Gunther has somehow squished himself up next to CeCe anyway, and his leg is pressed against her's, hot through her jeans. He threw an arm around her a while ago, like fifteen minutes into the movie, and his hand is curled up near her neck, and every once in a while will move, twitch, sort of, and brush against her skin, making her entire body shiver. Well, anyway, it's really awful and distracting and the room is hot and she's finding it hard to breathe. Her heart is beating really fast, she's positive Gunther can hear it.

She can't stop thinking about turning, just a little, and pushing her body up—she'd sit on Gunther's lap, one leg on either side, and run a hand through his hair, and then push down with her entire body and kiss him, make him groan and put her hands on his hips, rocking forward and creating friction, amazing and perfect and—

She plants her feet firmly on the floor and scoots forward off her couch, standing up. Gunther looks up at her, and Deuce says, "Hey, you going to the kitchen? Get me a soda."

"Not going to the kitchen," CeCe says, and grabs Gunther by the hand, pulling. "Come upstairs with me."

She'll be embarrassed later, but right now, she can't even wait until they're in her bedroom to push Gunther against the wall and kiss him, rough and hard, and get her hands under his shirt, scraping against the soft heat. She just—she needs him, right now, and she doesn't care if it's the stupid pregnancy's fault.

It might be the last time she'll ever be able to—

She just needs him.


	3. Chapter 3

To say he's surprised when CeCe drags him upstairs during the house warming party would be an understatement. He thought maybe she wanted to talk to him about something important away from the other guys, but there was an anxious urgency about her that wasn't quite – it wasn't 'let's have a talk' energy, but it was something he recognized and, fuck, fuck, seriously? That meant that CeCe wanted to – her hands were hot on his skin and her eyes were dark, blown wide and needy and Gunther recognized that look, only he usually saw it when he was pushing CeCe down and licking a stripe up her center, trying to get her to squirm.

But CeCe rarely initiated their… whatever their thing was, except for the first time, when CeCe's fingers had touched his wrist lightly, and she'd licked her lips nervously, and kissed Gunther clumsily, but sweetly. Most of the time since that moment Gunther has been the one to tug CeCe in and kiss her and slip his hands underneath her clothes, primarily because since he found out he could do that, he hasn't been able to stop himself. Not that Gunther always steers their sexual encounters because, well, CeCe can be pretty vocal sometimes, but she's not really a 'pushing up against a wall' kind of girl. So this? Is kind of a surprise.

CeCe presses him up against the wall outside of her bedroom and his head is spinning, his hands coming up to hold her against him, surprised and turned on and a little unsure. They're still – they're not even in the bedroom and CeCe is kissing him like her life depends on it, one hand fisted in his shirt, already working the buttons loose, the other hand under his shirt and toying with the waist of his jeans. Everyone is still downstairs for Christ's sake and – okay, really, this shouldn't be as hot as is it, but CeCe being pushy just does things to Gunther.

He pushes her back a little bit, panting, but she just pulls him away from the wall, dragging him into her bedroom and shutting the door. He barely has a moment to register that his surroundings have changed before CeCe is kissing him again, running her hands through his hair and making soft, wanting noises into his mouth.

His brain immediately goes from "What? What?" to "sex with CeCw now" which is a pathetically quick switch, and a not-so-surprisingly easy one. He surges against CeCe, tugging at her shirt and sliding her hands underneath, stroking the smooth, warm skin of her back and sides. The sound she makes in return makes his heart do something weird, flippy and warm and fast, and it makes him want to scrabble at their clothes until they're naked and pressed against each other and Gunther can kiss every inch of her and lick the sweat from her neck and watch CeCe's face as she squirms and mumbles and begs. But CeCe's faster, and she's already unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off. Her hands are everywhere, running up and down Gunther's chest which feels kind of fucking amazing and he's having trouble catching his breath, too busy groaning at the way she licks into his mouth and kisses him as dirty as she ever has.

"CeCe—" he says, and the girl pulls back which, what? No, no, back to the kissing and the petting please, but CeCe is shoving him, kind of roughly, towards the bed while her hands undo his jeans. Her mouth presses against Gunther's collarbone, and he can feel the way his heart is jumping just from those lips mouthing along his skin, tiny wet, open mouthed kisses making his blood hot.

CeCe leans away to take off her t-shirt, and Gunther can't help but stare, amazed as always by the expanse of flawless skin that was exposed to him. It's not like Gunther has never seen CeCe naked before. And it's not like he's only ever had sex with CeCe – He has had sex with plenty of people. But it's somehow different, more like, well, special? Every time is like a revelation. It's always new, and that's different, and Gunther honestly can't get enough. (There are warning bells going off in the back of his head; this isn't normal, this isn't average, and something is definitely wrong, but he ignores all the signs and just – goes with it.)

"Can you – just, um, lay down? On the bed. Please," CeCe asks, only she's not really asking, she's telling Gunther what to do. Her eyes are huge and focused and staring hungrily at Gunther, like he's the main course or something and fuck, yes, it does feel good. He strips out of his jeans and underwear quickly, lowering himself onto the bed and wrapping a hand around his erection, just watching CeCe finish undressing. It's amazing how unselfconscious the girl becomes when they do this, how her blushes and mumbling almost disappear. She's still the same person, she's still CeCe, but more comfortable and relaxed and even more confident and Gunther loves it, loves the way she acts when they have sex.

CeCe's graceful like this, even though she trips over nothing when she walks around the house, and her movements are deliberate as she steps out of her pants and looks up at Gunther. Her eyes are bright and her body is perfect, even though she moves too quickly for him to really appreciate it. CeCe's already on the bed, already straddling his waist, leaning down to kiss him, her hands bracketing his face. Gunther rests his hands on her hips, stroking his thumb along the soft skin there. He tries to slow the kiss down, pulling back and pressing chaste, dry kisses to her chin and to the corners of her mouth, but CeCe makes an impatient noise and tilts her head back, licking her way into his mouth as she grinds down against his hips.

"Let me, I want –" CeCe says into their kiss and Gunther is ready to let her do whatever she wants, his body hot and tingling wherever she touches him. He nods and rocks his hips up, shivering at the friction as she gasps and tightens her fingers in his hair. She's rocking in earnest now, their bodies' slick with sweat as they slide against each other. CeCe buries her face in Gunther's throat, panting in soft breaths as his fingers are pressing against her hole in a blur, and she's whining and leaning back against him, making these amazing gasping sounds, annoyed and yearning. Gunther feels something surge inside of him, something he's felt before, hot and possessive and scary in its overwhelming nature, the way need seems to swamp his body and all he cares about is the way CeCe looks at him, eyes huge and awed and begging.

"Gunther c'mon, just, please, in now," she demands, and Gunther laughs, watching the way CeCe's thighs tense as he presses the first finger in. He twists his hand and watches the play of emotion on her tense face, feeling his cock twitch as she bites down on her lower lip, her eyelids fluttering as he adds another finger. He can remember the first time they did this, how CeCe had been scared and nervous and how tight her grip on his bicep had been during the first fifteen minutes while Gunther soothed her and kissed her and waited, patiently, until she began to relax. It was stunning to see the transformation, how over the course of two years and thousands of kisses and hours and hours of laying in bed together, learning each other's bodies, CeCe wasn't shy or nervous anymore, and she didn't depend on Gunther to lead the activities. Now she knows exactly what she wants, and it's kind of super fucking hot.

CeCe pushes down on his hand, and his wrist is going to be sore tomorrow, but he so does not care. He fits a third finger in, his breath catching when she starts to seriously rock back and fuck herself on his fingers, and he has to remind himself to breathe – it's just so hard when CeCe gets like this, wild and desperate and flying apart. Then she begins reaching down to stroke his dick firmly. The slick glide of CeCe's confidant hand on his cock makes Gunther jerk in place, his thighs tense as he tilts his hips up into the strong grip. Fuck but CeCe knows him well now, each stroke quick and no-nonsense, her thumb stroking across the head teasingly on each upstroke. Gunther pulls his fingers from CeCe's pussy, moving to grip her hips and guide her closer, whining a little in the back of his throat as he lifts up, his thighs tense and trembling.

"Wait," Gunther pants, realizing that – that CeCe forgot, and that they had to – "wait, wait, CeCe," he fumbles for the side drawer to grab a condom.

"No." CeCs grabs his wrist, "no, just – I need you, please, forget it, c'mon, Gunther, I want—" and he would be an idiot to protest, so he lets his head fall back on the bed, and touches CeCe reverently as she sinks down onto his erection, a soft sound spilling from her throat as their bodies meet. CeCe's hands grip his shoulders tightly, her head bowed and eyes closed. Sweat trickles from her temple, and he longs to lean up and lick it away, but he's too busy trying not to move. It's so warm and tight and fuck, perfect inside of her, and it's hard not to roll them over and shove forward with his hips, to claim and own and fuck her hard, so she'll remember. That crazy lust to somehow make his mark on CeCe rises up in him, and he rolls his hips, making her hiss a little and open his eyes.

She looks at him, her face tight with pleasure, and doesn't look away as she rises up, her slim thighs shaking. Gunther doesn't look away either, but he wraps his hands around her thighs, helping her, supporting her as she holds herself up before slowly sinking back down. Now it's Gunther's turn to hiss, his fingers fanning out on the underside of CeCe's legs until their tips touch the curve of her ass. He slides them up a little and moans when CeCe does, as she grinds down in place.

"CeCe," he mumbles, and spreads his legs a little, thrusting up. She makes a sound. "What do you want? Tell me, tell me what you want. Tell me what you need." He wants to lean up, but CeCe's hands on his shoulders hold him down, and her eyes bore into his, searching and wanting and complicated, so full of conflict that Gunther's a little confused.

"I just," She says, and shivers, "I just want this, this right now, let me, just for now, let me have this," and Gunther only nods and watches as CeCe lifts again.

She's so fucking beautiful it's a little unbelievable, and Gunther knows, he knows that they were made to do this together. The way he fits into CeCe, how his cock throbs and his body aches with pleasure, warm washes of heat and need and desire spreading through his body – he knows that he wants to do this forever with CeCe, for as long as he can. The sudden sweep of emotion he feels is a little disconcerting, such fierce affection and longing that it almost disconnects him from sex.

But then CeCe is riding him hard, and fast, and she's making noises, and he can't focus on anything but the perfect slick heat of CeCe and how fucking amazing it feels to have her body pistoning up and down. The bed groans a little and Gunther wonders in a daze if the other guys have gone home, or if they're still downstairs, listening and laughing and making grossed out faces to each other – he realizes he doesn't care.

"Oh my god," Gunther moans, feeling the climb of his orgasm, his body tilting eagerly up every time CeCe slams down. His whole body is practically vibrating and her fingers keep clenching and unclenching on his shoulders. She looks – she sounds - really into it, and that only turns Gunther on even more. He growls and lifts his upper body up, his abs screaming in protest, tugging CeCe down to kiss her mouth sloppily, one arm wrapped around her torso, the other clamped tightly on her ass. He holds her down even as she squirms on top of him, kissing back frantically, and thrusts up in quick succession, one, two, three, before CeCe rips her mouth away and buries her face in his neck. She clenches around him as she rides out her orgasm, and Gunther bites his lip and fucks up into CeCe hard, the bed protesting loudly, and comes.

It feels like forever until he winds down, his arms still wrapped around CeCe, who is still nestled into his lap, still connected. They're both panting, and she hasn't removed her face from his neck. Gunther runs a gentle hand down her back, soothing her, murmuring soft things.

He rolls them both over to the side and pulls out, not missing the way CeCe winces, just a little, and shifts uncomfortably. He'd get up and try to clean them both up, but CeCe looks exhausted, her eyes closed and her mouth parted, still trying to catch her breath. So Gunther stays where he is, feeling his body cool down, watching as CeCe's breathing evens out, falling into a rhythm. He reaches to the floor and pulls up the duvet they shoved aside during sex, using it to cover them both up for bed. But he doesn't fall asleep right away.

Gunther stares at CeCe for a long time, the curve of her mouth, the smoothness of her cheeks, and the dark fan of her eyelashes. Her hair is a mess, and she has dark circles under her eyes, but Gunther can't help but think she's the most perfect thing he's ever laid his eyes on. It may not be explicitly true, because God knows there are a lot of beautiful and perfect things in the world, but Gunther thinks – yes, maybe CeCe Jones is one of them, the best of them all. Some warm emotion settles in his chest – it makes him feel light, airy, but it makes his stomach clench too, makes him want to curl his arm around CeCe and brush his lips over her forehead. Laying there and watching her sleep makes him think about laying in his own bed and falling asleep alone. He doesn't want to, any more. He doesn't want to fall asleep alone. He wants to fall asleep next to CeCe. And, he realizes, it doesn't really matter if they're falling asleep after sex or just after a long day or maybe after watching a movie and sharing popcorn – he just wants to be with CeCe.

Fuck.

Like, for real.

More importantly he really doesn't want CeCe to fall asleep next to anyone else. Just the thought makes jealousy curl up in his gut, and he can't stand the idea of another person sharing her life like that. Being the one who makes her laugh and blush and push her up against walls or kiss her just to say hi. He and CeCe have talked about the future, and CeCe's always said she wants a family, someone to love and be with, a monogamous relationship – so Gunther knows she's looking for something else, someone else, something permanent. Not him.

The thing is, he understands with a start, he wants to be the permanent someone. He wants to – all of it, everything, through new experiences and huge fights and make ups and sharing holidays – he wants it all. He's in love with CeCe. Holy shit. He's in love with CeCe.

Something seems to burst in his chest and suddenly that faint feeling of longing becomes about ten times as strong, and all he can do is lay there and ache, and want, and count CeCe's breaths in and out until he falls asleep too, his dreams restless and unsatisfactory.


	4. Chapter 4

CeCe rolls over in her sleep, groaning into her pillow as the familiar feeling of nausea begins to creep into her stomach, driving her awake. She opens her eyes slowly, looking around for the clock to check the time—the website said the nausea was supposed to die down in the second trimester, which was kind of—close, anyway. She can't see the clock though, or the bright red numbers illuminating the otherwise dark room. What she can see is the messy tufts of blonde hair poking out from under the blanket, and she suddenly remembers—if she sits up, moves the blanket down a few inches, she'll see Gunther Hessenheffer in her bed.

Crap, she thinks, and even though she kind of wants to sit and stare and run thoughts through her head—what does she do, how does she pretend this never happened, oh, Gosh—the angry waves in her stomach push her out of the bed, and she runs to the bathroom down the hall, still naked, barely making it to the toilet before she's sick—like every morning. (And by morning, she means two o'clock in the morning. It's awful.)

Part of her wants to go back to sleep when she's finished ten minutes later, except—she can't, with Gunther there. And she's not going to wake him up at—she checks the clock in the bathroom—one forty-seven in the morning and kick him out. Especially since it's her fault they'd, um, had sex again.

But to be fair, the pregnancy hormones are driving her crazy, and she was already really, all whatever, over Gunther so he's the only one she could actually maybe get away with pouncing on. (Because, Gosh, that's kind of what she'd done, dragging him upstairs without any explanation, ignoring Ty and Deuce—and oh, that was all sorts of embarrassing now—they probably knew.)

She spends the next four hours folding laundry and organizing the food in the fridge. She ends up sneaking back into the room to grab clothes, and then writes a note before leaving for work two hours early—Had to run for morning rehearsal! Eat whatever you want! :)

She doesn't look at whatever it is that Gunther texts her three hours later.

Gunther calls a few days after that. It's just a few days until the huge Shake It Up, Chicago! charity show they've been working on. It gives her the excuse she needs to say sorry when Gunther asks if she wants to get together.

She hasn't really had as many bad headaches lately, but she has one all day after that. She takes a few moments between rehearsals and goes to the restroom, and stares in the mirror, wondering if the extra nausea and headaches are because the baby is mad at her. That's silly though, and she wets her face before going back out for the sixth rehearsal group of the day, unconsciously leaving a hand by her stomach through the whole thing.


	5. Chapter 5

Gunther bites down on the plastic spoon hanging from his mouth and huffs a sigh around it, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He slides down against the back of his leather couch, trying to ease his anxiety. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind – after CeCe's house warming party things kind of, well, changed. It's terrifying in a way, loving CeCe that way, understanding that it's more than just sex, it's more than what he bargained for, but it's worth it to try to make their relationship more than just casual hook ups and friendship. He wants more.

It's not easy when CeCe keeps ignoring him. Gunther spits the spoon out and digs his phone out of his pocket again, his finger hovering over the 'Dial' option when his roommate, Kevin, emerges from the kitchen, balancing a takeout box in one hand.

"Who are you calling?" he asks through a mouthful, his eyes flickering to Gunther's hand. "Not that CeCe girl again. I thought you said it wasn't serious."

Gunther puts the phone down and shrugs, his mouth in a tight line. "Why does it matter?" he asks back, a little sharply. It's none of Kevin's business what his and CeCe's relationship was like.

Kevin makes a face through his leftovers. "Uh, because it's not going to work out dude. It's kind of pathetic, how you keep calling and texting her. Can you not read between the lines? She's blowing you off man. She doesn't want to hang out. It's not serious to her so, so just stop trying to make it something it's not. I don't want to deal with your sorry, weepy ass when she ends things."

Kevin turns around and walks away, but Gunther freezes, trying to process what his best friend just told him. He hadn't even – okay he'd been a little worried that CeCe was ignoring him, but mostly he just figured she was busy with the new choreography and everything, and it's not like she and him hang out all the time, but now that Kevin's pointed it out, he can't help but thinking she really is blowing him off. He feels a sweep of hot shame rush through him; shame, and embarrassment, and that burning ache that rejection leaves. It stings. But sometimes, he swears, and every time he called CeCe in the past, she had always called back, or asked for a rain check, if a certain time didn't work out. Not this, not canceling, not avoiding. What could have changed? What was different now?

"Kevin you're an asshole!" he yells, belatedly. There's no answer. He didn't really expect one.

Thank you for reading! Please review, I'm sort of new to this writing thing. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello! If anyone is actually reading this I'd like to say a few things. I'm new to this fanfiction writing thing so reviews would be amazing! Also thank you for reading. This will be a long-ish story and I will update daily unless something comes up. Please feel free to check out my other stories too! Thank you! -cheysiu**

CeCe gets home at around eleven the day before The huge SIUC charity event. Her nerves are high, but she's exhausted, and so she doesn't even check her messages before taking a shower, brushing her teeth and falling under the covers of her bed. She's almost asleep when the phone, left ignored on her end table, starts ringing, the music from Gunther's ringtone spilling out. She's more than tempted to ignore it.

She throws a hand out to grab at it and finally pushes the green talk button five rings in, and brings it to her ear as she sleepily mumbles, "Gunther?"

"Hey CeCe," He says from the other side of the line. "Sorry it's so late, did I wake you up?"

"No," CeCe admits, "but I was about to go to sleep, so, um, what did you need?"

"Tomorrow's the fifth, what do you think I need?" he says, and she can hear his amusement slip through the sound.

CeCe smiles, and says, "Thanks. It's kind of—I'm a little nervous. I've worked so hard. We all have. But I have a lot to do in the morning, so, um, can we talk later?"

Gunther makes a noise, like a mm, and CeCe grips the phone harder. "Yeah, sounds good. You gonna' have lunch tomorrow? Or dinner? Whatever."

CeCe is two seconds from agreeing, somehow, when she remembers that that's—no. She can't do that anymore, it's not fair to her, or him, or—or the baby. And like it or not, she has to start thinking about stopping this weird arrangement they have. It's not like Gunther will want to keep doing it once CeCe starts showing and everyone figures it out anyway, but she doesn't want to be rejected like that. Her stress levels are already going through the roof and it's only the end of her first trimester now. There are three.

"Tomorrow—it's going to be really busy," CeCe says, finally. Then: "I'm sorry. I—maybe later?"

Gunther is quiet for a second, and then says, "I get it. Later then. I'll call you and we'll make a date, alright?"

She nods against her pillow, and then adds audibly, "Alright."

They hang up. CeCe grips her phone hard until the display turns off to save power. She puts it back on the end table and breathes, closing her eyes. Later—later when? Later when she's grown four sizes? Later when she's shopping for diapers and bottles and baby clothes? Later when? When she has a car seat in the back and a baby gate on the stairs and—

There isn't a later.

CeCe had been pretty sure there was nothing good about being pregnant. The headaches are awful; the fatigue is driving her crazy almost as much as the stress. She's always vomiting at the worst times and she has random urges for things like ice cream and honey or whatever, and when she can't find them, she just eats whatever is in the house instead. It's not even that she's hungry—which she knows is coming—but rather that she just… needs to eat, and she catches herself biting her nails more than once. She doesn't think she's had more than four hours of sleep at a time since before she'd even peed on the stupid stick, which makes her way more cranky than she should be, and she thinks people—like poor Sarah, she's putting up with so much from her these days—are starting to notice.

Except—except then she feels it. She's lying on the couch, and it's late—like almost midnight late, but she couldn't get to sleep in her bed, so she was just changing location as a sneaky tactic or something, but she feels it. It's just a twinge at first, and she adjusts her hips, keeping her eyes closed, but then it happens again. She reaches down with a hand to feel where it hurts—not hurts, exactly, but, halfway there, she snaps her eyes open and lies as still as she can.

It happens again.

The baby—the baby is kicking her. The baby is kicking her. Kicking—the baby is kicking.

Everything is suddenly more than insomnia and nausea and stress. That's—that's real, that's a little human, with little feet, and it's moving—it's kicking. She can't—she sits up, and the little movements stop for a minute. Long enough for her heart to stop too, and she's touching her stomach with both hands, desperately looking for that distinctive pressure, before it comes again, slightly to the left of where it had been the first couple times.

She can't help it when she starts to cry, and she doesn't move her left hand as she fumbles for her cellphone and pushes her Caller ID down, looking for Gunther's name. It takes what seems like forever for him to pick up, and when he does, he's groggy and rumbling, soft and obviously barely awake, as if pulled away from sleep. "CeCe?"

"Gunther," She says, still sobbing, and she almost—she almost says everything, about the kicking and the headaches and the insomnia and the stress and the pregnancy test in the gas station. She almost asks, Why did you forget the condom? Why did you have to forget it right then?

She just cries instead, and talks about the show, and mumbles about anything but babies and sex and how much she wishes Gunther would just come over and hold her, hold the baby, hold them together, like some crazy messed up family. He stays on the phone with her until nearly two in the morning, and CeCe apologizes five times, says she doesn't know what came over her, it was just—insomnia and stress from the show. She hangs up the phone only after promising to have lunch with Gunther next week.

She slips into bed the next night, and takes a shaky breath before she starts to sing, slowly, rock a bye, baby, in the treetop, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. Her palm is resting flat against her stomach, although the baby isn't kicking right then. She keeps singing until she finishes the song, and then manages to fall asleep easily for the first time in months.

They go to a little café type place that Gunther suggests. He says that his boss' son is actually the one that found it, but doesn't elaborate on the story because they get distracted by a man sitting at the front, near the entrance, playing guitar and singing a cover of Lady Gaga's Pokerface. It's not that bad, really, and CeCe lets Gunther linger there long enough that they listen to the whole song and clap when the man's done, and Gunther gives him a twenty, pulling his arm away from CeCe's shoulder to do so. She jumps, and steps a few feet back to go into the restaurant, wondering exactly when he had put his arm around her shoulder in the first place, and why hadn't she even noticed?

They talk about Ty and Tinka's engagement and Deuce's new tattoo, and the fight that Cece's mom and brother seem to be making into a never-ending sort of thing. Gunther tells a bad joke and CeCe points out the flaws, so he tells it again, only revised, and it's actually still not funny, but she laughs anyway. When Gunther asks if she wants to head back to his place though—watch a movie or something, he says, smiling—CeCe swallows and shakes her head.

"I have to—rehearsal, later," is what she says, getting up so fast that her chair scrapes against the ground, making a loud noise. "I—I'll see you!"

She doesn't know if she's proud of herself for getting out of a Gunther-related event without having sex, or if she's just depressed that she wishes she could turn around.

A couple days later, and completely out of the blue, she walks into the office to hear Sarah on the phone, kind of, um, mad. She's not yelling or anything, but—her shoulders are tight and her eyes sharp. She puts a finger up so that CeCe will know to be quiet, and says into the phone, "Yeah, yeah, I'll tell—what's the official line? 'Moving onto new adventures?' You're kidding—alright, fine, just—I'm not happy with this."

"What's going on?" CeCe asks, and there's a little twinge at her side. She's already pretty good at ignoring the whole persistent kicking thing. (It was amazing the first night, not so much the second or third or… yeah. She's having some sleeping issues.)

"Management—above production's heads, they're saying—has decided Nolan needs to move on. New adventures, they said. He's not going to be dancing for you on the show anymore. They've got a replacement coming in, I guess. We'll meet him in a few days."

"What?" CeCe says, "But—but why? Nolan's—Nolan's great, Sarah, I don't—"

"I don't know. Don't ask me why management do the things they do. I've already put in my piece—they're not changing their minds, sweetheart. We'll have say goodbye to Nolan."

CeCe stays a little upset for the rest of the day, and keeps looking at his phone, ready to text Nolan or something, except Sarah hasn't told him yet, and—it all just really sucks, mostly.


	7. Chapter 7

Halloween seemed to come out of nowhere, even though it was actually like two weeks later. She blames the fact that she's barely had any sleep lately, with the combination of the pregnancy and work. She's thankful for the break for a while though it kind of—well, it presents its own problems.

CeCe isn't really—she likes most foods, but she's not that much of a sugar lover? She's never really eaten cake or cookies or any type of candy in abundance and she hardly even like soda anymore, so it's—it's really annoying that all the sudden, she can't stop eating sour gummy worms. She's never eaten gummy worms! At least, not the sour kind. And she wouldn't have even started eating them if she hadn't gone home to visit Flynn and mom and—it's just, there was candy everywhere. From chocolate to starbursts to gummy worms and this weird chalky candy and popcorn balls and caramel apples—she pretty much couldn't stop munching on sweets and candy all night. (She even had a huge piece of pumpkin pie that even Flynn laughed at her for, it was so big.)

And then she went home, and the craving for sour gummy worms were still so bad that she went to the grocery store and bought four bags. Not even the little bags, because she's clearly going crazy and bought four huge bags of sour gummy worms and—the really crazy part—is actually eating them.

It's really not a good thing to be eating gummy worms constantly though, and Sarah is giving her this look that's pretty much saying What is going on with you? She should tell her, probably. She's how far along now? A few weeks into the second trimester. She's going to find out eventually, she knows, she just—she can't tell her. It's too—she just can't. She can't tell anyone yet. It's too soon, and too scary.

That's why it's terrifying when they go to the photoshoot for some website—she can't even remember what the company is called, or why they're doing it, just knows that the stylist is yelling at Sarah, and she's yelling back, and CeCe doesn't fit in the dress that she'd tried on for this shoot a week ago.

She puts down the gummy worms.

In retrospect, it was a really stupid thing to do. CeCe usually runs in the mornings—she loves it, the way her heart will beat fast and her lungs will work and her chest will ache. She likes the feeling that moving puts in your arms and legs and the fresh air is amazing for your mindset. It's good for you to run in the mornings. She hasn't been doing it recently though, distracted by too many things.

She knows, somewhere in the back of her head, that gaining weight is normal when you're carrying a baby. She knows that it's healthy; that you can't lose that weight short of having the baby. The stylist's voice is still echoing inside her head though, and the same with Sarah saying, kindly, later on, "Maybe you shouldn't eat so many of those sweets, CeCe—not that I'm telling you what to do, but you don't even like sweets, do you? What's going on—you okay?"

She's terrified, and so she puts on sweats and an old t-shirt and goes running in the middle of her fifth month being pregnant. It's definitely a stupid thing to have done, considering, but it isn't until after she gets that sudden wave of dizziness and she trips, slamming hard into the ground on her side, bruising her hip, that realizes how monumentally dumb an idea it was.

It's not the first time she's gotten dizzy out of nowhere, and had to sit down and just breathe for a moment before she could figure out where she was and what she was doing. But it's the first time she was pitching forward when it happened, and it's the first time she realizes how—how dangerous it could be.

She sits in the grass of the school she happened to fall onto for a good ten minutes.

She can feel the baby kicking, and she knows, rather than thinks, that it's mad at her.

This was her mistake, and the consequences are going to get worse. She can't fight them off by dieting or exercising, by risking her baby's life. What if she'd fallen and landed on her stomach? What if the baby stopped kicking? What if—

She calls Sarah, and calmly tells her everything, and asks her to come pick her up. It's been five months. She needs—what she needs is to go see a doctor, before she does anything else as stupid as trying to lose weight while she's pregnant. Sarah's quiet on the other side of the line after she says it, but eventually she says, "Okay, okay, where are you?"

She comes to pick her up in a black jeep, and she thinks it's her husband's. She usually drives a little red Buick.

CeCe almost doesn't want to get in the jeep. Sarah rolls down the window though, and smiles. "CeCe, get in. I made an appointment with my gynecologist, alright? He'll be discreet, but come on, we need to—we need to go, he's expecting us."

The first half of the ride is quiet, before Sarah finally says, "CeCs, so—when—"

She stares at her shoes, "Beginning of September. That's when I realized—or do you mean—five months. I'm—it's been five months, I think."

Sarah nods and tightens her grip on the steering wheel. CeCe is nervous, tapping her feet together, waiting for her to yell at her, tell her how stupid she is for letting this happen—how could she do this? What's the world going to think when they find out she's pregnant at nineteen? Her career is over, it has to be. It'll be wrecked when people find out. She's an awful role model, how could she have let this happen?

When Sarah speaks though, angry just like she thought she'd be, it's not—it's not about why it happened, or what's going to happen, or about her career or public image or anything, and CeCe sinks down in the seat and crosses her arms, just—trying to hide. "It's been five months," Sarah says, quiet and mad, "It's been five months and you haven't seen a doctor. CeCe, what were you thinking?"

"I—I didn't know—"

"Exactly," Sarah says, turning into another street carefully. "You don't know anything about what it means to be pregnant, CeCe. Doctors—doctors know. What if there's something—this isn't just about you anymore, CeCe. That's a baby, and she, he, whatever it is, is your responsibility, and you've been doing a pretty crappy job with that so far. What are you going to do if something's wrong?"

"I—"

"We're here," she interrupts. She parks the car in silence, and then before either of them get out, she turns and grabs CeCe's hand. "Hey, hey, CeCe. I love you, alright? You're one of the best kids I've ever known. It's going to be okay. We're going to fix this, and you're going to be fine. I'm mad at you—but I'm not going anywhere."

They go into a private room immediately rather than waiting in the lobby like most other patients. CeCe is thankful even though it takes what feels like an hour to fill out all of the paperwork a nurse gives them. When they finally finish all of that, and she didn't even know half of the answers, a nurse comes into the room and says, "Okay, we need a urine sample first, and then we'll go ahead and weigh you, alright? After that we're going to take your blood and run a few basic tests—and then doctor will come in and you'll have your first ultrasound."

CeCe goes through everything without a real expression. She thinks maybe she's scared, or in shock, or just trying to keep from blowing up and either yelling or crying or freaking out like a crazy person. She winces when they weigh her. She's twenty pounds heavier than she was the last time she'd stepped on a scale. The nurse is smiling at her though, and says, "It's good to gain weight, don't worry."

It's not—she doesn't mind gaining weight, really, it's just, with her job—she thinks a lot of people are going to be disappointed with her. Will they reschedule photoshoots or cancel them all together? Or just get him new wardrobe? Will they kick her off the show? Or—she doesn't even know how this is going to work.

The needle when they take her blood is big and the prick hurts for a few seconds after they're done. She rubs at her arm while they go back to the little room and wait for the doctor.

"Get on the chair," Sarah says, settling down in the smaller guest chair in the corner of the room. CeCe looks at the big one, with all the equipment around it and the white plastic covering it. She does not want to sit there. She does anyway, when the door opens and a man comes in, white coat and clipboard signifying him as the doctor.

He's smiling, at least, so CeCe tries to smile back while he sits down.

"You're CeCe Jones?" the man says, holding out a hand. She shakes it awkwardly, nodding. "My daughter's thirteen—she's your biggest fan." CeCe tries not to wince, because that's—she's probably not going to be allowed to admire her anymore, not when her Dad knows CeCe is all, whatever, nineteen pregnant and all of the stuff that goes with that.

"So, let's get down to business. I'm Dr. Charles Taylor, but just call me Charlie, alright? I've known Sarah since she had her first child, so you're in good hands, I promise. Can I ask you a few personal questions before we start the exam?"

CeCe nods, breathes, says, "Yeah."

"You said you think you're about five months? Why haven't you come in before?"

She tries not to look at Sarah, and fidgets for a second before saying, "I just—I was scared, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing. This—I didn't mean for this to happen. It was an accident."

The doctor doesn't ridicule or chastise her, just nods and says, "Alright, we'll get you all caught up today, shall we? I'm going to do a physical exam after the ultrasound, sound good?"

He tells her to lean back on the chair until she's practically lying down, and then he's lifting up her shirt and she is closing her eyes tightly as something cold and wet and gooey feeling is being spread out along her belly.

"You barely have a bump yet," the doctor muses, and then, "Ah, here we go, do you want to see?"

CeCe breathes, and opens her eyes. Sarah stands up and comes over to hold her hand while they stare at the computer screen, black and gray and a little distinctive blob of baby. She can't stop watching, barely acknowledging that the doctor is saying anything at all. There a little heartbeat, fluttering and rhythmic.

It's amazing.

"CeCe," Sarah says, and she breaks her stare to look up at the doctor.

"What?"

"I asked if you'd like to know the sex," the doctor says, chuckling. "I'm also guessing you'll like a disc copy of the baby? And a picture?"

"Yeah," CeCe says. "I mean—all of it," "yeah."

The doctor looks back at the screen and says, "Looks like a little girl."

CeCe closes her eyes and lays her head back against the chair again, and squeezes them shut to try and keep the tears away. She's having a baby—she's having a baby girl.

The doctor makes a little hmm sound then, and pushes a few buttons. He asks, "You said five months?"

"Yeah," CeCe replies, quietly.

"Do you have the exact date?"

She frowns, "Um, I think—it was around when the summer season premiered, I think, so—early July?"

"Hm," the doctor says, and then wheels his chair over. "You couldn't have consummated the baby after that?"

CeCe shakes her head, "No."

"I'll be right back," Dr. Charles says, and leaves the room.

"What does that mean?" She asks Sarah, sitting up.

She shakes her head. "He's just asking lots of questions, CeCe."

They wait about twenty minutes before the doctor comes back in. "Alright," he says, "You're measuring at about sixteen weeks, but you're telling me you're about twenty. What this means is that the baby isn't growing as quickly as she should be."

CeCe jerks, and scoots back in the chair. "What does—"

"It's probably nothing serious," the doctor says, "or else you would have likely had a miscarriage in the first trimester, which you didn't. Can you tell me a little about your eating and exercise habits?"

"Right," he says a few moments later, "With your current weight, you should be eating about 1800 calories a day, and with the baby you should be eating about 2100. And I don't mean in candy, although cravings are perfectly fine to give into now and again. You haven't been eating enough, and you're working too hard." He turns to face Sarah. "She needs a strict schedule—I want her home no later than ten every night. She needs eight hours of sleep—or at least be trying to sleep for eight hours every night. No more crazy hours." He swivels around to face CeCe again. "No jogging, running, power walking—none of that. Regular walking is fine if you feel up to it, but that's it. You'll have to keep it safe with the dancing. Remember—2100 calories. I want you to keep a record of what you eat, and bring it with you when you come back for your next appointment. I'm scheduling that for next week, the 24th, alright? Ten in the morning sound good? We'll have your blood work back by then. Speaking of which—is the father in the picture?"

CeCe shakes her head, eyes wide, hoping Sarah is copying all of this down.

"Alright," Dr. Charles says, writing something down on his clipboard. "Do you know if any genetically transmitted diseases run in his family? Or is he Jewish, by any chance?"

"I—no, um—I don't think he's Jewish. He's from another country though and I don't know what their beliefs and stuff are mainly there?" Sarah sends her a look. CeCe doesn't look back at her.

"Alright. I'm not going to do the physical exam until we see if this new eating and sleeping schedule improves the baby's growth. If it does, we're good, right on schedule. If it doesn't, we'll run a few other tests, see what's going on."

They shake hands again after CeCe gets off the chair.

The doctor adds, before they open the door, "My office will be discreet, Miss Jones, but I do want you to realize that you're going to get bigger as the baby does. How long are you intending to hide this from the public?"

CeCe looks at Sarah, and then shakes her head. "I haven't—I don't know."

She calls her mom that night. She's quiet, at first, and then sighs and says something that CeCe can't quite distinguish through the phone, but she thinks it was some sort of prayer. They talk about everything the doctor said—CeCe repeating it all and her mom asking questions and offering advice. So, candy is bad, bread and fruit is good. No coffee or soda or alcohol—not that she ever drank much of that stuff anyway, and she's thankful about that.

She isn't surprised when she eventually says, "CeCe… Baby, who's the father?"

She almost wants to tell her, but that's—she can't. Her mom won't get it, she won't. "I can't—Mom, it doesn't matter, he's not—we didn't—this is just me."

"Baby," she says, "No matter what you think, this isn't just you. He—he has as much to do with this as you."

"I don't want him to," CeCe says. "I don't want him to have to, Mom. He didn't mean for this to happen, and what's the point in messing up both our lives because of it?"

"Wait, chica, you haven't told him?"

"That's not—this is different, Mom. We're not dating or anything."

"He's still about to be a father, and he has no idea. You need to tell him."

"I—I know. I'm—I don't know, Mama," CeCe says, eventually.

Her mom is silent for a little while. "I'll have to come over soon," she says after a minute, "and we can get that nursery of yours ready. You only have four months now, we'll have to hurry. Any themes you like?"

CeCe hm's under her breath, and says, "Minnie Mouse?"


	8. Chapter 8

CeCe is not entirely sure how it happens. Maybe somebody from the doctors' office wasn't as discreet as they were supposed to be, or maybe somebody put together the fact that she'd gained twenty pounds and the fact that she went shopping with her mom at Carter's. Maybe it's because her mom bought her a book titled A Thousand Names for a Baby and gave it to her at an ice cream shop where she was eating vanilla and honey together.

Probably, CeCe thinks, it was everything put together, and it was finally too much to fit in a box, hidden at the back of her closet.

Sarah comes to her house in the morning, and sits down at the kitchen table long enough that CeCe says, "Um, did you want breakfast?"

"We have an interview in three hours, and TMZ just published the fact that you're pregnant."

The interview is supposed to be about her choreography and the shake it up set, and the routines coming up, and her favorite dancers.

It's not.

CeCe can't really blame them.

"So TMZ came out with an interesting story earlier today—did you hear that you're pregnant?" The woman in a blue suit asks, and she only looks half amused, like she'll accept the idea that TMZ is crazy, but—

"Yeah," CeCe says, swallowing. "I guess—I guess everyone had to find out eventually? So, um, surprise!"

She doesn't really think calling the rest of a day an explosion is an overstatement, but by the time she gets home, she doesn't want to think about it at all. She doesn't have a choice though, because Gunther's called three times in the past ten hours, and CeCe knows it isn't a, "Hey, you wanna' hang out?" sort of call.

She's home for exactly thirty-seven minutes before her phone starts ringing again, without press or family or managers surrounding her. She picks it up. "Hey, Gunther."

He sounds surprised that she actually answered, and hesitantly says, "Hey, CeCe."

They're quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching out until she can't take it anymore. "So, you're probably calling about, um."

"Yeah," Gunther says, roughly. Then, quietly, "Is it—I mean, is it—"

She interrupts him before he can get the question out, before he can say it, before she can ruin everything and tell him the truth. They weren't two people who were happy, and in love, and ready to have children and puppies and share a house and a bed and a life. This happened to CeCe, not to Gunther, and it's hers, it's—it's hers to take and deal with and live with.

"Don't—don't worry." She breathes. "It's not yours."

After a moment, Gunther says, "What?" like he doesn't get it, doesn't understand, like he's confused and doesn't believe her. She almost wants to laugh.

Sturdier, she says, "It's not yours, Gunther."

"I don't—" he says, stopping. Then, "Whose is it?"

CeCe's answered that question more times than she can count today, and the whole past week. "It doesn't matter," she says. "He's not—he's not going to be involved. And I don't really need him to be. Can we—can we not talk about—him? I just, today's been really busy and—"

"Yeah, sorry, you probably need to sleep or—yeah," he says, jerkily, like he's the one who wants to throw down the phone and never talk to the person on the other side of the line again. CeCe clutches the phone tighter as she says, "I—I'll talk to you, um, later."

"Yeah, CeCe," Gunther says, and then there's a click, and she slowly puts down the phone.

She cries hard enough that her headache builds and she gets sick. She wonders what would happen if she told hin it was his. Would they—would they share custody? Would they trade the baby back, on and off on weekends? Would they move in together and try to raise it like—like some crazy family on a soap opera? What if Gunther didn't want anything to do with it? What if he was mad? What if he wanted sole custody or just to keep pretending it wasn't his at all?

It's just—it's better to do this on her own.


	9. Chapter 9

He knows it's a really bad idea. He knows that. But he's already seen three articles (with photographs!) speculating on who the father of CeCs's baby could be, and it's only been four days since TMZ leaked the news. It's so – it feels so invasive, to see CeCe's surprised face in the paparazzi shots, to see zoomed in photos of her stomach which just looks like how her stomach normally looks, only now Gunther knows that it's not normal, that there is a baby in there.

A baby that is not his.

It makes him weirdly achy and wistful and angry, all at the same time. It's not like he wants a baby; Gunther isn't ready for a family, he isn't ready to settle down. He should be relieved that he isn't the father, but all he can feel is…disappointment. Disappointment, rejection, and this all-encompassing jealousy. He never thought of himself as a jealous person but apparently that is a lie, because there is nothing else this awful, angry, yearning emotion can be. And he's beginning to understand it's because he loves CeCe, like, for real love, like, get married and raise a family and grow old and dance and fight and make love and do stupid, cheesy, romantic things for each other love. He hates the idea that anyone else has even been near CeCe, hates even more the idea that someone got to see her flushed and panting and wanting, got to be inside of her and possess her and make her cry out in passion, because all of that? Should be Gunther's and no one else's.

He knows how irrational he's being, how grossly possessive and immature it is to want to own CeCe like that when they never defined their relationship in the first place, but – he's in love with CeCe Jones. He can't change the way he feels.

His palms feel hot as he dials and he wonders why he's doing this in the first place. It's just – those magazines? There were so many options for who the father could be. And sure, he was in a lot of them, but the speculation was wild and he couldn't – it had to be someone and, okay, maybe Gunther is torturing himself, but he wants to know. He understands why CeCe would want to keep it private but damn it, it's not right for her to go through this alone. He's just – making sure. (He pushes the sick feeling away as the phone rings, and takes a long, slow breath.)

"Hello?" Nolan answers and, yeah, this is so not going to go well, considering the way Gunther's hand tightens on the phone just from hearing his voice.

It's not – it's just a chance, he knows that, but one article said something about how Nolan getting fired from Shake It Up Chicago just a few days before the whole pregnancy thing came out was pretty suspicious and they were really close and they worked on routines together everyday and sometimes Nolan would smile at CeCe like, like – Gunther had seen pictures, okay, and it's impossible to not smile at CeCe, but still. (Clearly the green-eyed monster has raised its ugly head and isn't backing down. Rational thought is out the window.)

"Hey it's Gunther Hessenheffer," he says, the tension already coiling up in his gut. "Listen man, I – sorry to hear about, you know, you leaving the show."

"Yeah it sucks. I liked performing there – it's a nice gig, you know?" I do know, Gunther thinks, and chokes it down. "It'll be fine. I'm still dancing might find a new gig – I'm not sure yet."

For a minute, Gunther doesn't know what to say. He's not sure how to bring it up. So, finally he just – says it. "Listen, I – about CeCe… Do you – I mean, are you the – CeCe's pregnant." He feels stupid, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth and this was a terrible idea.

"Oh shit, I know. I don't even – wait, what?" Nolan sounds confused. "Are you – are you asking if I'm the father?" Gunther makes a noise in his throat – sort of a yes. "Jesus Christ! I'm seventeen! I'm in high school! What – are you not the father?"

He – wasn't expecting that. "Listen I just – what? I – no. No, I'm not the – that's not the point – you definitely aren't, uh, you know, involved?"

"Fuck, no, Gunther, I never was. And I just assumed it was yours. I mean, you and CeCe were always so close, and it just seemed like the logical choice…"

"Well I'm not. I don't know who is. I thought maybe – it doesn't matter. She wants to keep it private, it's her business." Gunther is somehow even more agitated now that he was before. It would have sucked if the father was Nolan but not knowing still sucks more. Fuck, he's completely lost his mind. "I'm sorry I'm just – going a little crazy. I – worry about her."

"I understand. I still can't believe you thought it was me but, whatever. It's not me. And apparently it's not you."

"Apparently," Gunther mumbles, and covers his eyes with his free hand. "Listen Nolan, I'm really sorry. Hey, uh, good luck with the career and all that. CeCe's gonna miss you. She really liked you."

It's a little awkward now, but Nolan acts like Gunther didn't just accuse him of an affair with a nineteen year old dance star. "Thanks. I'll see you around, Gunther. Don't go calling too many guys, okay?"

Fuck. He hangs up. Worst idea ever and he's exactly where he started out – with no fucking clue about who it could be or what do to now or how to deal with these fucking emotions.


	10. Chapter 10

It's a stupid party that CeCe has to go to for some sort of, um, show premiere thing. She doesn't really want to go, but Sarah's trying to make her all, still out there, and proud and happy and stuff, about what's happening now that the whole world knows about it. It's for a movie—um, a Disney movie, or no—it's an action? She doesn't know, she didn't actually go to the showing, she had a doctors' appointment that took longer than it was supposed to because the doctor wanted to take her blood and run some sort of test, or whatever.

She's dressed in a green dress that has an elastic waist that Sarah bought—and she can't decide whether she's annoyed or thankful, because it's comfortable, but, elastic waisted clothes, oh my Gosh, really?—and it really doesn't show to much of her stomach (because she'd refused to do that, no, no, no way). People flash their cameras at her when she gets out of her car, and she smiles awkwardly as she walks through the red carpet area. Everyone yells at her to stop and pose for a picture, and then more and more questions are asked—some about the show, but mostly about the baby, and over and over again Who's the other father, CeCe?

She smiles and shakes her head and says, "I can't, um, answer that question."

She hasn't told Gunther, or her family, or her manager. She's not going to tell some random reporter either.

The thing is though; she wasn't expecting Gunther to be at the party. She sees him the minute she walks in the room, because, well, he and Ty aren't exactly, um, difficult to spot. She kind of ducks out of the way and tries to find somebody else she knows. She hasn't talked to Gunther in a week, not since that phone call, when he had tried to figure out what was going on. Since he called to find out if he was a father and you lied to him, CeCe thinks, and cringes.

Tinka yells at her from a few people down through the room, and CeCe sinks into a chair at her table with relief. She's smiling and asks things like Is it a boy or a girl? and When's the due date?, but it's way better than Is it— and CeCe answering Don't worry, it's not yours.

She's not sure what the point of the party is, really. There's an actor from the show there who comes over to talk to her for a few minutes, and CeCe has to pretend she loved his character, but cuts the conversation short when she sees Gunther looking at her through a few groups of other people. He has—he has an expression on his face that CeCs doesn't really know how to describe. Maybe—hurt? Or maybe even mad. Or possibly confused? Or she might just be freaking out because she doesn't know how she feels around him.

We were never dating, she thinks, walking quickly towards the building's exit. They were never dating, it was all just casual—so casual they never talked about it except when it was actually happening. But now she's carrying Gunther's baby. It shouldn't matter—for Gunther, that is, because CeCe has no intentions of telling him it's his. So their relationship shouldn't be changing at all, except that they're not going to, um, have sex anymore.

But everything is off. It's awkward and confused and—and she's not watching where she's going. Somebody spilled something on the floor near the exit, and it's red and sticky. CeCe slips before she realizes it's there.

She's expecting to fall on the tiled floor, hard, and instinctively pushes an arm out so that she doesn't land on her abdomen, except she doesn't hit the ground at all, Gunther catches her, grabbing her around the upper waist and holding tight, carrying all of her weight.

CeCe breathes out a long sigh, and when she gets her balance back, pulls away from him and turns around to say, "Hey, Gunther."

He looks at her for a second, before he smiles. It's not his regular big smile, CeCe can't help but notice, but it's still—he's still smiling. "CeCe. Come on, sit down a minute." His eyes slip down to her stomach, and she wants to cover herself up. She barely manages to hold back, folding her hands into fists at her side.

"Yeah," she says, and they end up sitting down at a nearby table.

CeCe isn't sure how they end up talking for two hours, but it's probably because Gunther jumps into talking about his clothing business, and then CeCe's dancing, and it's the first time in what feels like months that she hasn't been talking about the baby. And—she's missed him. She likes Gunther, he's one of her best friends. It's nice to just sit and talk to him, and not be afraid of it somehow turning into sex or Gunther finding out the truth.

She's laughing at one of Gunther's stupid jokes when she leans back, and not thinking about it, isn't folding her arms across her stomach. She doesn't notice until Gunther chokes off his laugh, and CeCs follows his gaze down to where her dress is stretching across her stomach from the way she's sitting. She sits up immediately, and bites her lip, because it—it looks awful, like she's hiding a ball under her shirt, and she's just—she doesn't mind not being attractive, she doesn't think she really is anymore, but—

This is Gunther, and he's seen her naked, sweaty and gripping him as they move together under sheets, and this is—CeCe doesn't want him to see her like this, gross and bloated and fat. It's stupid. She doesn't—she can't have sex with him anymore, why should she care if he doesn't think she's—if Gunther doesn't want to? Stupid—stupid pregnancy hormones, this is their fault, it has to be.

"CeCe," he says, quietly. He bites his bottom lip. "How is—" He breaks off, takes a deep breath. "How's the baby? I mean—I've heard—"

"She can hear you," CeCe blurts out, a little kick in her low abdomen suddenly reminding her. "Talking about her, I mean. She can—do you want to—" Scouring up her courage, CeCe reaches out takes Gunther's hand, and pulls it up against her belly, over the dress. She stretches her hand over the top of it, and it only takes a moment before Gunther's eyes widen and he jerks back. He puts his hand back right away though, and leans forward.

"Jesus Christ, she's kicking already? That's—" he looks at CeCe, who smiles back softly, heart beating fast. "—that's incredible, CeCe."

"I—do you remember, um, a while ago? I called you, like, in the middle of the night freaking out?"

Gunther smiles. "Yeah."

"That was the first time she kicked," CeCe admits.

Gunther's grip tightens a little, but it's more comforting than anything else. She contemplates right then, just for a moment, telling him everything—that the baby is his. She doesn't though, just smiles instead.

Later, when Gunther takes his hand back and stands up, CeCe can barely stop herself from reaching out and grabbing him, pulling him back close, wanting him to stay there. She does manage it though, and they wave before separating ways, going home.

The interviewer—a man CeCe's been interviewed by before, and he's really nice—keeps saying weird things. Like So, Nolan Paul was kicked off of the show a few months ago, and Didn't you go to a Ty Blue concert about seven months ago? with like, he's all, winking, and stuff, and oh my Gosh, he's totally implying things, and CeCe is the worst at answering things like that.

"Um—" she says, a lot, and "No, actually—" and more of "Oh my Gosh, no," than she thinks she's ever said in one sitting ever before. Like, in her entire life.

Eventually—thank goodness—they get around to talking about David's career, and she gets to say that her position has been temporarily replaced, but will definitely still be there when she is ready, it'll just be a little different—shorter, and her Mom is going to help with the baby.

She totally shouldn't have figured that was it on the baby talk. That's never it on the baby talk.

"So we saw you—and by we, I mean some guy with a camera who needs to get a life, he's totally not employed by us—that you were hanging out pretty close with designer Gunther Hessenheffer at the Double Weapon Flight premiere last week."

He winks again. CeCe is kind of hoping it's like, a medical condition, or something.

"Um, yeah," she says, slowly. "Gunther's still a good friend of mine, and he's a great guy. We just ran into each other, so we decided to, kind of, just catch up a little? Nothing, like, suspicious or whatever."

"So he's not the Dad either?" He actually looks a little dejected now, like Gunther was his secret card or something.

CeCe frowns. "No, um—no, he's—but he's going to be an awesome Uncle, if that makes you feel any better?"

The interviewer pauses, and then nods. "Slightly. But just because you're adorable and pregnant."

CeCe throws her hands up, and goes, "Oh my Gosh, don't say that," and then even the lady behind the camera laughs, and it's like, a total lost cause. It's not the worst interview ever, but it sort of feels like it at the moment. (She totally doesn't let the guy touch her stomach when he asks a minute later.)

CeCe is tapping her feet against the couch's arm, fidgeting constantly. Her phone is hooked under her ear, and for some reason, she's been talking to Gu for three hours. The baby's kicks are kind of—it's like there's no rhythm to them at all, and they're completely random. CeCe's thinking a soccer player maybe, but definitely not a musician. She says so to Gunther too, kind of like—grumbling, and complaining. She shouldn't complain so much, and she generally tries not to, it's just, Gunther is so nice. And he doesn't mind when she complains, or gets annoyed, and needs to throw pillows and groan and cross her arms while pouting for an hour.

The mood swings are a full-time job, is what her mom said, when she'd asked her. Gunther just chuckles and smiles and makes really awful jokes that shouldn't be funny but end up being hilarious at two in the morning when CeCe's taken the new medication the doctor gave her, and—really, it's just, Gunther is really easy to talk to.

It started a few days after the movie premiere, when Gunther texted her at like, eleven, and was all, "Cinderella or Winnie the Pooh?" and CeCe called back to go, "What?" because she couldn't sleep anyway (she'd even tried warm milk, but the baby is like, nocturnal or something). And then she found out Gunther was totally Christmas Shopping for the baby, like, what. (And he had totally let her think he was shopping out, like, real, not at home on the computer because he was bored or whatever, and CeCe had flailed and said, "Gunther, Christmas is a month away, why are you midnight shopping!" before he finally told her the truth.)

She's not sure how smart that is, actually, but—biology aside, Gunther is her best friend in Chicago. Why should that change just because of a baby?


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello! So I've finished writing this story. I have everything in my doc manager. I wanted to update daily but for Chapter 12 to be posted, I am going to ask for at least one review. Pleeaasseee! :-) Do it for GeCe! Thanks for reading and enjoy chapter 11!**

Gunther is really glad that CeCe started talking to him again, glad that he can be in her life again even if—even just as a friend. It's shitty timing though, realizing that he's completely in love with CeCe while finding out that she is pregnant with another man's baby. (And he remembers what it was like, reading the gossip magazines, feeling tense and skeptical and anxious, until he watched CeCe nod and laugh nervously, confirming the rumors. Calling her again and again until she finally picked up so Gunther could ask "Is it – I mean is it – ?" with hope rising in his belly, tight and hot and everything, Christ, only to have CeCe tell him not to worry, that it's not his. That – that felt like getting punched in the gut, the hope flickering out and dying, shriveling. He had no idea it meant that much.)

He realized too late that he was in love with CeCe. Sure, now he knows why he always felt so protective, and so possessive, but it didn't hit him until after CeCe moved into her new house, until CeCe dragged him upstairs and sucked hickies onto his collarbones; he didn't realize until he watched CeCe pass out beside him, exhausted and naked and glowing, her lips parted and fingers curled loosely around his wrist. He knew, then, that he always wanted to fall asleep like this, CeCe within reach, peaceful and sated and content.

That's why he tried to – but she kept pushing him away, ignoring his phone calls and canceling lunch dates. Gunther gets it, he does, especially understanding what CeCe was going through - is going through. He's grateful that she's allowing him this much, the closeness, talking and hanging out again, but he can't help but burn with jealousy every time CeCe puts a protective hand over her belly unconsciously, and wonders who the father is. What kind of an asshole got to have CeCe, got to have all of this, and wasn't even there for her? For them?

It's not – Gunther can deal with it. He just wants to make sure CeCe is okay. From what he's found out, she didn't even go to a doctor until like, the second trimester or something. So really, he's just trying to be a good friend and make sure she doesn't try something crazy, like climb on a ladder to put up Christmas decorations or something. He stops by a convenience store on the way over and buys a few big bags of sour gummy worms, recalling how CeCe had complained about running out a few nights ago during their ritual phone call. ("Don't make fun of me," she had warned when she'd explained her cravings to him, who had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was just so typical that CeCe would crave sugar while pregnant – the one girl who rarely ate sugar anymore, of course.

"I didn't say a word," Gunther said in his defense, but he was grinning.

"I can totally hear you all, whatever, smiling," CeCe accused, but instead of laughing Gunther kind of – melted, warmth blooming in his chest and spreading to the rest of his body. His throat felt tight, but then CeCe changed the subject, and he could focus on being normal again.)

She had said she'd leave the door open (after Gunther had invited himself over, when CeCe said "I had people bring the tree in and set it up, but I don't know how I'm going to get the star on top; maybe one of those long hook things? Like how they use at department stores?" and he had this flash image of her accidentally pulling the entire tree down on top of her with the hook and said, "Oh no Jones, no way — I'll come over and help," despite CeCe's protests) so Gunther just turned the handle and walked in, the bags of gummy worms tucked under his arm.

The house is warm and there are boxes in the hallway labeled 'Christmas Decorations! ' that are open, still half full of things CeCe hadn't unpacked yet. "CeCe?" Gunther calls, following the faint sound of Christmas music until it leads him to the living room.

He leans against the doorframe and smiles at the sight that greets him. CeCe is wearing loose black sweat pants and wooly looking socks, and a red sweater that would normally be two sizes too big, but pulls a little over the obvious belly that she is sporting. Gunther can't help but think that pregnancy suits the girl – she's all baby, barely an ounce of actual fat on her, but her face is fuller and softer, and she gets this look sometimes, wistful and anxious and hopeful, and Gunther just wants to wrap his arms around her and tell her its okay.

Her back is turned to him, and she's reaching up to drape a garland of holly across her window, struggling a little on her tip toes. Her voice still pours out, strong and confidant as the carol plays in the background. Gunther smiles and sets the gummy worms down, crossing his arms and listening for a minute before giving in and joining in.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas," he sings, sliding his harmony into the second chorus and startling CeCe, who jumps and spins, her eyes as round as her stomach, her hands jerking down. The holly, perched precariously to begin with, falls down around her head, draping along her shoulders and making her look like the lost Christmas elf of the North. Gunther breaks off his singing, bursting into laughter instead at the sight.

"Gunther! Oh my gosh, you scared me," CeCe says, when he stops laughing. "You could have knocked or something!" Her hands are on her hips, her lips pursed and her cheeks flushed. He grins fondly and leans forward (maybe a little too close, if CeCe's quick intake of breath and wide eyes are any indication) to put his hands on the girl's shoulders. He stays there a fraction to long, just smiling at her, his fingers lingering at the place where her neck meets her sweater before he pulls back, lifting the garland of holly from her shoulders.

"You told me the door would be open! And you wouldn't have heard me anyway, singing the way you were," Gunther says, reaching up to string the garland correctly. He stands back and admires his work, elbowing CeCe gently. "Look at that – aren't you glad I'm here?"

He looks over and – and she's staring at him with this weird look on her face, a mysterious half-smile and her eyes far away. Gunther's breath catches in his throat and he stares back, because sometimes, sometimes he used to see that look on her face when they were together, tangled in the sheets and mouths on each other. It was fond and wistful and content all at once, and something else, something he couldn't – didn't understand. Gunther wants to kiss her, his lips burning with phantom sensation, and he leans in –

CeCe seems to snap back to the moment then, looking away from him. She's still smiling though, her eyes bright and happy. "Yeah," she murmurs, "I'm glad you're here.


	12. Chapter 12

CeCe spent the day of her twentieth birthday with her mom. Actually, now that she's thinking about it, she's glad she's turning twenty, at least, before the baby is born. It's like a line, somehow, to not be nineteen, means she's not a teenager anymore. She's an adult, and she's totally capable of raising a child, even by herself.

Or at least, being twenty makes her think she is.

Gunther randomly shows up at her front door at around six, with gummy worms in one hand and a Disney movie in another. CeCe nearly drops her phone, and mouths "Tangled?", pointing to the DVD while letting him in and closing the door behind him. "Oh, yeah," she says into the phone, Ty talking about—um, something, a show where fans were like, jumping and screaming in unison and stuff. "Ty, I, um—"

"Is Gunther there?"

CeCe sighs, "How do—"

"It's your birthday, as if he was going to let you spend it on your own."

"Mmhm," CeCe mumbles, and kind of wants to just, glare at the phone when Ty hangs up.

"That Ty?" Gunther asks, kind of, odd-like, after CeCe slips her phone back into her pocket.

"Yeah, he was just, you know, 'happy birthday CeCe!'" CeCe says, kind making the last three words sing-song like to emphasize the whole conversation. "Gosh, do you really have Tangled? I love that movie!" CeCe asks then and tries to grab the DVD out of his hand.

"Nope, no way, not until I get the birthday hug."

CeCe rolls her eyes a little, and with a sigh goes ahead and holds out her arms, and Gunther grabs her into a hug that's, well, warm and huge and comforting and um, CeCe wouldn't actually mind doing this forever, but.

"Also," he says, pulling back and handing the bag of gummy worms to CeCe.

"You're definitely the best!," CeCe says, before sitting down on the couch and ripping open the bag of gummy worms. They aren't the sour kind, but, well, she appreciates it anyway.

Gunther sits next to her, and she lets herself slide over a little, just—just leaning in a little bit. It's—she's been really kind of affectionate lately? She thinks it's the baby, knows it's the baby, but, well, it's not like Gunther cares, they've done a lot worse than half-cuddle on a couch while watching Disney movies.

"Yeah," he says, after he coughs and moves an arm so that it's over her shoulder.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Gunther says one night, after they've been on the phone for hours. CeCe is warm in her bed, with three pillows behind her, but she keeps having to interrupt the whole going to sleep thing with bathroom breaks every fifteen minutes and twice already she's had to throw up. (It's actually pretty bad—like, it's gotten to the point where the doctor is telling her to eat 2500 calories a day because she just keeps getting rid of it all when the bouts of nausea kick in.) So she's been complaining about all of that—and the headaches, and the insomnia, which is pretty par-for-the-course when it comes to her midnight conversations with Gunther these days. She's kind of, um, avoided getting into talking about her hormones, which have gone all wonky again lately and she's totally glad Gunther hasn't come over because she hasn't had sex since the last time, with the housewarming party, or whatever, and—well, it's not like having sex is even possible, she has a mini-balloon under her shirt now, but it's still—she still gets all hot and weird and flustered sometimes, randomly, and especially when Gunther pitches his voice all deep and rough and—anyway, she's just glad he's been busy with his business lately.

"No, I'm not," CeCe says. Clearly—she's spent the whole night complaining. That really, really, really does not qualify as amazing. "I'm really not."

Gunther grins—or CeCe thinks he does it sounds like he is, somehow—and says, "You really kind of are." And then quieter—"Kinda' crazy how amazing you are."

CeCe's not even sure if she was supposed to hear the last part, but it makes her cheeks heat up anyway, and the baby kicks her right as she's about to deny it again.

She bites her lip, and instead says, "So are you."

Gunther coughs after a second, and jumps into a story about a crazy cousin, but CeCe's kind of stuck on that for the rest of the phone call. She's not really sure why.

She can't believe this is happening. She can't—she knows it's always sort of been there, the whole—

She's never been in love with Gunther.

She's always liked him though—loved him, sort of, but in a—in a different way. Just thinking about him can make CeCe smile or laugh or roll her eyes. It's Gunther, he's—he's one of her best friends, he is her best friend, and even though they had that whole other dimension of their relationship sort of going on, CeCe has never been— She's never really thought about kissing him outside of sex. It's always been about the way his eyes would go all—all dark and intense, and how he'd pull her aside, out of the room, and run his mouth down her throat, and slide his hands across her hips, touching the skin and making it burn with this hot—hot need and want and desire. But that was it. She never daydreamed about him saying, I love you, and taking her hand, and giving her flowers or chocolates on Valentine's Day or whatever it was that people did when they were in love.

She's eight months—she's eight months pregnant. She's exploding like some sort of crazy hormonal blimp, alright, and this can't be happening. God can't be that cruel. It was—it was a mistake that she got pregnant, just two people not paying enough attention. It's not supposed to be more than that.

It was barely a few minutes ago that CeCe had complained into the phone, "She won't stop kicking." It was two in the morning, and she hadn't been able to sleep because the baby was trying to be a night owl.

Gunther had chuckled and said, "Alright, alright, let me—put the phone down so she can hear it, alright?"

And CeCe had, she'd held it against her belly, swollen and stretched and sort of amazing anyway (not that she lets anyone see it without the shirt, because, well, no.) She'd heard Gunther start singing, and closed her eyes, just listening to the faraway sound. It was nice enough that she almost fell asleep, so eventually she'd moved the phone back up to her ear to say, "The baby stopped! I think she fell asleep, oh my Gosh, thank you, Gunther."

Except—except she didn't say anything. His voice was deep and accented, but right then, it was—it was slow, and soft, and gentle and CeCe couldn't interrupt him, couldn't stop him.

And we'll linger on, time can't erase a feeling this strong, no way, you're never gonna' shake me, ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby.

She was in love with Gunther.

It was—oh, Gosh, it's—she's in love with Gunther, soft and sweet and singing for her—for their—baby through the phone at two in the morning, and—

If she told Gunther—would they still laugh at his bad jokes, and would they still go out to café's, and would they still show each other dance moves and would they still—would they still be them? She doesn't even know what she's thinking—if she told him she was in love with him? If she told him he was the father of the baby? If she—

And it's too late now, if CeCe told him, he wouldn't believe her. Or he'd be mad that she had lied to him—disappointed too, maybe. And whatever she would be hoping to get out of telling him—whatever she wanted, and she still doesn't really know, but whatever it is—she'd lose the chance to have it for sure.

CeCe tries to ignore Gunther for two days, but that ends with him calling and leaving a message where he's all, singing, like, obnoxiously, and really awful lyrics, what was that, rap or something? and CeCe ends up picking up the phone just to get him to stop. So that doesn't really work. It's just, he's been amazing, these past couple months, actually, and she can't imagine losing him right now.

She sleeps better when he comes over and ends up sleeping on the couch, or when he will talk to the baby through the phone—or sing, her brain reminds her meanly—or bring gummy worms and Disney movies and sends her texts like, "Would you ever name the baby 'Bubble'?" (Which, no, she would never name the baby Bubble, although, um, it's fine for like, Lady Gaga or—not that Lady Gaga's—that's—oh, Gosh, foot, mouth, why does that keep happening to her? And Gunther just laughs at her.)

But even though they talk kind of constantly, it still comes as a surprise when she walks back into her house after a really short day at the studio—Sarah had just needed her for like two minutes, it was hardly worth the gas cost—when there's a bunch of people in her living room, jumping up and being all smiley and excited and there are pink balloons and strings and plastic baby bottles and—CeCe thinks that's like, a wall of diapers, and Gunther is there in the middle, all like, smug, and with Rocky and Tinka and Deuce and Ty and—

It's a baby shower.

She blames the pregnancy hormones when she starts crying. It's not even sad tears, or stressed tears, they're happy tears. CeCe doesn't cry very much—she does, like, sometimes during sad movies or when her cousin died, or things like that, but she doesn't cry at baby showers. At least not ordinarily. She spins around and goes, "You guys! I can't believe—" and pretends to be looking at the balloons and all the little good luck wishes written on them, so that she can maybe, like, get control of herself, except Rocky runs over and hugs her, saying, "CEEECEEEE!" in this loud voice that is completely Rocky. Tinka is there too, and Flynn, so her Mom must be nearby and Ty and Deuce are totally standing by with cups, and smiling, and she can't hide the fact that she's crying at all.

It's kind of an awesome way to start a baby shower.

First off, CeCe is pretty sure if she tries feeding the baby the weird glop in that glass container that Rocky is trying to get Gunther to try, the baby will grow up to hate her. It's just—ew. All of them are really gross, even just the smell, so tasting them is—really icky. She thinks the one in her hand is bananas. But she's not tasting it to make sure. She looks at Gunther, whose writing on his little notebook peaches. CeCe had thought that one was apricots, oops.

She passes the bananas one to Gunther, and says, "Isn't there, um, something else I could feed her?"

Gunther grins and takes the glass container, "We'll figure it out. This is only for the first year or something, right? And half of that she'll still be drinking out of a bottle, CeCe. What is this, bananas?"

"CeCe," Tinka says, and hands her what she's going to assume is spinach. (Again with the not tasting it to make sure.)

"Thanks," she mutters, staring at the stuff dubiously. Tinka laughs.

Rocky ended up winning the baby food game. CeCe didn't actually do that bad—well, she did better than Gunther and Ty anyway.

They do some other things—at one point, they're all throwing baby names around, but none of them are, whatever, CeCe just doesn't know what she's going to do about a name. How can she pick someone else's name? One they'll have for their entire life. What if she picks one the baby will end up hating? And it's not like she can name her after anyone, because then everyone else would feel left out, and. It's just complicated.

Eventually, Rocky pulls two big things of string out of her purse, and says, "Okay, measuring time!"

"What?" CeCe says, already moving back, because—really?

Flynn is laughing, and says, "CeCe's not going to like this game." He's already cutting a piece of string though, wrapping it around his own stomach twice, as if that's going to be accurate at all.

CeCe kind of, like, flails a little, and says, "Really, do we have to—Gosh, this isn't—you guys!"

"It's tradition!" Rocky says from across the room, as she finishes cutting her piece of string and hands the roll to Tinka, who unrolls it so much CeCe thinks it'll wrap around her like, three times, maybe. She's not that big. Tinka adds, "Sorry."

CeCe crosses her arms and says, "Definitely not naming her Tinka."

Gunther snorts next to her and grabs the string that Rocky just finished with, and pulls it out carefully before cutting it. "We ready?" he says, but CeCe's mom walks in from the kitchen with a glass of apple juice and says, "Wait, I haven't done it yet!"

CeCe tries one last, "Mom—" but it doesn't get her anywhere, and then Rocky is standing in front of her, pulling her string tight. It's too small, and it's kind of—it's really embarrassing. CeCe fidgets uncomfortably before Rocky grabs Tinka's and measures it—way too big. Deuce's is too big too, and Flynn's is too small, and Ty's is too big, but closer to being the right size than Rocky's was. Her mom's is almost perfect—an inch or two too big. She's grinning when Rocky takes Gunther's, the last one, and pulls it around CeCe's waist.

Gunther's is perfect. He laughs from next to CeCe, loud enough that it makes her jump. She breathes a long sigh and waits for him to stop before saying, "It's not like—Gunther, it's because you're always touching me!" The exactly measured blue string drops from her belly where Rocky was holding it as she turns. "I think that's cheating? You had, like, foreknowledge."

Gunther just laughs again and shakes his head, saying, "No way, Jones," right as Tinka yells "Cheater!" and throws a diaper (clean, obviously, but still) at Gunther's head. CeCe's mom says, "I declare myself the winner since I was the closest other than Mr. Cheat here."

CeCe takes the opportunity—everyone play fighting or whatever—to sneak into the kitchen and get a glass of apple juice like her mom had earlier. She loves that everyone came and did this. She hasn't seen Rocky in ages, and it's great to see them all again, she loves them, and the party itself is—she has more baby food and diapers than she thinks one kid will ever need, basically. But it's all—it's kind of overwhelming, and she needs a break, so she takes her time in the kitchen.

Instead of going back out to the living room, she sits down in a stool and drinks her juice in the quiet kitchen. She can still sort of hear everyone laughing and yelling in the other room, and the baby can too—she's like, jumping or something, really excited. It's kind of painful, but not really. Distracting though, definitely, and a little annoying, but, well, it isn't like she can do anything about it.

She looks up when Rocky comes in the room and smiles because she's smiling. "Hey, CeCe," she says, looking to grab a plastic cup off the counter (courtesy of Ty, who'd also brought the alcoholic version of lemonade, but CeCe had vetoed that at a baby shower and so it's in the fridge waiting to go home with him again). "How are you doing? Tired? Want me to get Gunther?"

CeCe scrunches her nose up and shakes her head, still smiling but more just because it's polite. "I'm fine, I'll come back out when I finish my juice."

"Alright," she says, filling her cup up and sitting down on the other stool. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

CeCe nods, "Yeah. Everybody's been so busy."

Rocky smiles, and says, "Your choreography is great, CeCe. I liked, hm, which one was it, the lyrical hip hop with the Beyonce song. Yes! I love that one. It's—you've grown up a lot since graduation." Rocky muses.

CeCe looks at her stomach. "Yeeeeep," she says, and lets out a long breath. "Definitely growing."

Rocky grins again though, even as CeCe's smile is kind of, iffy, at the moment. "Bet you and Gunther were surprised when you found out, huh? It would have been so scary."

"Gunther's not the Dad," CeCe says abruptly, suddenly realizing why she's been all "Want me to go get Gunther?" and all-smiley and "Oh, CeCe, did you want my seat?" when she'd been sitting next to him earlier, and—and Tinka was doing that too, earlier, and Deuce had even—oh my Gosh.

Rocky blinks up at her, opening her mouth into an 'o' before closing it again. She says, "I didn't—really? But you're so—you're not dating? I thought—"

"He's just—" CeCe starts, and then stops. She hasn't really thought about what Gunther is doing—or why. At first it was just—a couple phone calls, like a friend, helping out. And then—he brought over gummy worms and helped with stuff in the house, and then they—they were talking all the time, and—he's just what? What is Gunther doing? "—helping."

"I'm sorry," Rocky says, awkwardly. "You two just seem really… like, a family?"

CeCe just shakes her head, and says, "But we're not."

"Come on," Rocky says, a moment later. "Your mom got you a present, and there's another tradition we need to fulfill."

"Another game?"

They walk back out and see Tinka and CeCe's mom laughing as the guys carry in a huge box. CeCe's eyes widen and she looks up at Gunther when they drop it down in the middle of the living room and he claps his hands together, grinning. "Georgia," Gunther says, looking at CeCe's mom, sitting on the edge of the couch. "This is great."

Her mom smiles and says something, but CeCe doesn't hear. She's concentrating on Gunther, Gunther whose smiling and walking over, and putting an arm out to touch her shoulder, completely—casual and intimate, like it belongs there, like he's not even thinking about it, like it's normal for him to just—just be touching her like—like they're together, like they're dating or married or expecting parents, like—

Why's he doing this, it's—it hurts.

"Alright, so it's the guy's job to put the thing together, right?" Gunther says, still looking all—all happy, like he's wanting to put together a crib and taste baby food and collect diapers and—like he wants to be a Dad, like he wants to be CeCe's baby's Dad, and that would mean he'd want to be—to be CeCe's—

CeCs jerks away from Gunther's hand, and yells, "Stop it!" Everyone looks at her, and she says, "Stop with—everything, you're not—you're going to be a great uncle, okay, but you're not—you're not going to be the Dad, just stop. I can't—I can't handle you being all—just stop."

CeCe feels guilty as soon as she says it, and Gunther looks like she slapped him, or—or told him she hated him, or—

"Sorry," he says, finally, after an awful, tense silence from the room. "I just—I thought it would be okay, to—but if you don't want me to, I'm just going to, uh." He turns so that he's not looking at CeCe, is looking everywhere but CeCe. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'm being really invasive. I'll just—I'm going to, uh, check on, something."

CeCe squeezes her eyes shut as Gunther walks past her, sliding through the backdoor, and Gunther's dog's loud bark makes it obvious that he's happy he's getting his owner's attention. CeCe hadn't even known that his dog was here.

"CeCe," Rocky says, quietly, tentatively, like she's going to explode again.

"I shouldn't have said that. You just—with all that stuff in the kitchen and—" She shakes her head, "I need to apologize, I'll be, um, I'll be right back."

When she goes through the backdoor, closing it again so that not everyone will be able to hear her talking to Gunther this time (and she's sure Rocky is explaining that they're not actually dating—she hopes most of this crazy drama or whatever goes down in history as crazy pregnancy hormones), Gunther is only actually a few feet away, leaning against the house and bent down. The dog is yapping at his feet, aching for attention.

CeCe kind of wishes she could be like that—a puppy, completely open with her emotions, no matter how crazy or weird, and not having to explain them at all, ever, and getting unconditional love back even when she's really foolish and makes a mistake. Gunther looks up at her, and the smile he sends CeCe is—is small, and nervous, like he's saying I'm sorry again.

CeCe walks over and when Gunther stands back up, giving the pup a last scratch in-between the ears, CeCe wraps her arms around him and pushes him into a hug. Gunther is half-frozen, his body not moving while his arms partially reach up as if to hold CeCe back. "CeCe?" he asks, after a minute, after the dogs whines get annoying and CeCe pulls back to sort of—awkwardly, maybe her stomach is that big—lean down and run a hand through his fur.

"I'm sorry," CeCe says, looking back up at him, and then stands back up fully because it's kind of—it's too hard to lean down like that, and her stomach is just always in the way it feels like. "I'm going crazy, and I overreacted. It's just—Rocky—I'm scared." She laughs, but it's closer to crying than, whatever, laughing. "Gunther, I'm having a baby."

He moves his arm, like—like he's going to touch CeCe. "I know that, CeCe. Believe me, I know that. I'm just trying to help. I guess I got a little too… into it. I'm sorry."

"No—you didn't—I love—" CeCe shakes her head again. "I love how into it you are. The texts and phone calls and presents and midnight snack runs—and helping to build the crib—it's—" She looks up at his face, registering that he is staring right back at her. "It makes me feel kinda' like—like I'm not alone, doing this. I'm just, confused and I still want—" She takes a deep breath, "I don't want you to stop what you're doing, any of it. Just ignore me when I'm being crazy, okay?"

"Come here," Gunther says, kind of—he's asking CeCe, rather than telling her, but she moves forward and grabs onto him anyway, and after a minute, mumbles, "Will you come back in then?"

"Yeah. I'll get the guys to help with the crib. Something your—friends can do to help, together, alright?"

"David just nods, and forces himself to let go of Cook a minute later when they go inside.

The next day Gunther sends her a text message, a picture of a goat onesie, pink and cotton and very obviously meant for a baby. CeCe just laughs when Gunther sends another right after, "I totally just bought that, yes I did." She sends a text back a minute later, "Doesn't mean she has to wear it!"

CeCe's never cared too much about Valentine's Day. It's never been a holiday that had much effect on her, honestly. She's never had a serious boyfriend, or even anyone she liked enough, like that, to give chocolate to, or whatever.

Gunther texts her at around one on February fourteenth, some joke about people who are alone on Valentine's day being sad and pathetic. CeCe only takes comfort in the fact that Gunther is also not in a relationship with anyone—thank you God!—and thus both of them are sad and pathetic, rather than just her. She doesn't answer it back though, testy and uncomfortable and just—she doesn't want Gunther to—it's Valentine's Day.

She ends up grabbing the container of vanilla ice cream out of the refrigerator and pouring a bunch of honey into it, and sitting down on her couch with a blanket pulled up to her waist, ignoring her phone. It's pretty pathetic, she'll admit, silently. There's nothing even on television except for Spongebob or re-runs of old Star Trek episodes. She updates twitter when she gets bored enough and the ice cream is too melted to eat anymore. "Happy Valentine's Day! Don't eat too much chocolate!"

She and Gunther don't really talk on twitter very much. It's too—public, sort of? And they can just text each other, so it seems kind of pointless most times. But she gets the alert a few minutes later, and opens it to read " guntherhess: What thececejones means by that is eat, eat, eat."

She laughs, and it's probably—it's probably silly, but she tweets back anyway, and her fans kind of like it when she talks to Gunther anyway, like, it reminds them of the old shake it up Chicago or something so— "Follow guntherhess's advice only if you want a stomach ache in the morning! (Like he's going to have.)"

Gunther texts her after that, rather than tweets, and says, "How can I get a stomach ache? You didn't give me any chocolate."

She shakes her head and texts back, "Sorry. Next year?"

Gunther responds a few minutes later. "I'm holding you to it."


	13. Chapter 13

When it happens, she's in the kitchen with her mom. Flynn had the brilliant idea to visit his niece for Valentine's Day. It's actually two weeks after though, because he had had midterms and couldn't find a break to not study until they were over with. Flynn is out in the living room, messing with the fireplace because the heater had been acting funny the last few days. At first it's just—uncomfortable, an ache in her side. She rolls her shoulders, and turns off the oven—except barely a few minutes later it happens again, harder, sharper. She grips the counter and quietly says, "Mom—"

She doesn't hear her the first time and when it stabs again a minute later, she yells, "Mom!"

When she runs into the kitchen, saying, "CeCe—CeCe, what's wrong?" she's already panicking.

"It's—I think—" she says, and she can barely breathe, all the sudden. "It's time."

"What?" her mom says. "It's too early, CeCe, are you—"

"Yes," CeCe says, and oh, Gosh, is she hyperventilating? She's gripping the counter so hard her fingers are white, and her legs are barely holding her up, and she says, "Please—please, I need, Gunther, Mama, call Gunther, please, it's—"

"Gunther?" she says, right after yelling at Flynn, and he is skidding to halt in the room, arms up like he's ready to carry CeCe to the car if he needs to. She would laugh, if that didn't remind her of Gunther so much. "Why—oh, CeCe, is he—"

"Mom, please," She says, and then they're going to the car, and she totally doesn't need to be all, carried out, but Flynn has an arm around her waist and her mom around her shoulders like she's about to collapse or something.

Her mom hands her her phone when they get in the car, and she's breathing hard, scared and terrified, but she dials Gunther anyway, because—because she needs him, right now, he has to be there for this, he has to be.

It takes three rings for him to pick it up, and when he does, he answers by yawning out, "Ce—CeCs? What's up? Little girl kicking again?"

"Gunther," She says, Gosh, she's practically crying, "Gunther, I'm going into, it's time for—she's coming, Gunther, you have to—please—you have to be here, I can't—"

"What?" Gunther says, loud into the phone, and CeCe can hear him curse and move and say, "Shit, fuck, I don't—I'm in New York for a convention, I don't know if I can get there."

CeCe says, "Please, just—please, Gunther, you—please, I need—" and Gunther says, "Don't hang up."

Her mom ends up putting him on speakerphone for the whole ride to the hospital, and CeCe starts breathing normally again sometime between "I'm headed to the airport, okay?" and "It's alright, this usually happens with first-time pregnancies, false alarms are quite ordinary—"

She puts her head in her arms and tries not to cry, she doesn't even know why.

But Gunther is coming, just like that, from New York.

CeCe—CeCe's going to have to tell him.


	14. Chapter 14

CeCe finally texts Gunther about an hour after they get to the hospital. The doctor has her in a little room anyway, and is smiling and talking and saying things that she doesn't actually care about right now. She's too busy trying not to freak out. The text is short, and to the point, "False alarm, sorry."

It's not like Gunther can stop the plane, so he's still coming, CeCe knows that, objectively, but she still doesn't open the immediate responding text for a good five minutes, her hand just—not pushing the button.

"Okay. I'm still coming." is what it says when she finally opens it.

By the time Gunther gets back in Chicago, CeCe and her family have gone back to the house, quiet and exhausted. She told her Mom and Flynn to take her bed, but they refused, and sent her up. She would have said no—"Gunther's coming!"—but she's too exhausted to argue, and she'll just—this is going to be the worst moment of her life, she might as well be comfortable.

It figures she'd end up falling asleep; that the one time the baby doesn't stay up kicking her, or sending her into the bathroom or kitchen every fifteen minutes, is when she needs to be awake. (And it's so much harder to tell herself that she has to tell Gunther the truth when she wakes up and he is asleep on the couch downstairs, arm hanging over the edge, hair and clothes all messed up like, like he'd gotten there in a hurry, as fast as he could possibly go.)

She wakes him up by touching his arm and saying, "Gunther."

"Mm." He kind of like, rolls a little, and swats out an arm before opening his eyes. "CeCe? Oh, baybee, should you be—sit down." He scrambles up, moving to one side of the couch and grabbing CeCe's hand to pull her down too. He yawns, once, but looks alert, awake.

"It's not like I'm on bed rest," she says, but let's herself be tugged down anyway.

"Close enough. Your mom let me in, told me all of it. You okay? I mean, that was terrifying for me and I was in New York," Gunther says. "By the way—I'm not leaving this city again until after this is over, alright? It's too crazy to try and—"

"When it's over?" CeCe interrupts, looking at his face, tired and smiling anyway.

"You know, when she's 'left the wagon'," Gunther says, grinning.

"I know what you meant, but this is never going to be over," CeCe says. "This—it's going to get harder, not easier. There's going to be a baby here, I'm going—it's a baby. One that cries and eats and poops—real, and tiny, and with toes and fingers and feelings and wants and needs and—this isn't going to end, Gunther. Oh, Gosh, I'm crying again, aren't I?"

She wipes at her eyes with her hands, while Gunther reaches up and grabs one of her shoulders, moving his thumb back and forth tightly—trying to be comforting. "That's okay. It was a hard day, CeCe."

"That's not—that's not what this is about." CeCe pulls away from his arm, watches as he pulls it back. "I need to tell you something."

CeCe breathes, one of those long, deep breathes that they teach you at the doctors' office, and says, "I lied."

It's quiet for a minute. CeCe is looking down at her hands, trying to keep them still where she's holding them over her stomach, huge and in the way. The baby isn't kicking, for once. Finally, Gunther says, "What?", sounding confused and uncertain.

She squeezes her eyes shut, and then turns a little and looks up at him—he looks confused too, brows furrowed and lips turned down. "Please don't hate me," CeCe says, "You can be mad. You should be mad. I'd—I'd be angry. But I didn't—I didn't know what I was doing. I thought—I thought this was mine, my problem, my responsibility. But it's not. It's not. I've had—you've been here the whole time, Gunther. And I was scared of that too, because I don't know what you want, why you're here all the time, and talking to me all the time and just—being amazing. I don't know how you're—going to react to—to this. I don't want things to change, but, Gunther, they won't stop." She says, ignoring the long wet tracks running down her face, just letting them be, because this is more important.

"Huh?" Gunther sounds, moving on the couch, just—adjusting, looking at her. "CeCe, you aren't making any sense—"

She takes a shuddering breath, and keeps going. "I—I lied to you, when you asked me if it was yours. I lied, and I'm so sorry."

"What?" he says, smiling in this—awkward sort of way. She watches the smile falter, and then "What? It's—she's mine?" And then comes the anger. Gunther yanks himself back, against the edge of the couch, away from CeCe. As far from her as he can get, and she can't even blame him, no matter how much it hurts.

"You—I'm—CeCe, I'm the father, I'm the father, didn't you even think—I can't believe you were going to keep this a secret! Didn't you think about my feelings? About my rights as a parent? I've been going crazy and you—what, why would you—am I not—did you think I was going to be mad?" Gunther—Gunther is yelling, angry and, and hurt, and CeCe didn't mean for—she can't—

She shakes her head, and turns even more, so she can—she doesn't—she has to explain, she has to make him understand and—he can't—he can't hate her, he just, he can't. "I don't—I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking, I was freaking out! And at first—at first I thought if I just ignored it, it would go away. But it didn't. It just—it just kept getting bigger, and I didn't want to tell you, because, well, it's not like we were going to be a family. I thought it would be better if I did it by myself. It's not—it's not like we were aiming for this to happen. You didn't want this anymore than I did!"

"That's not the fucking point," Gunther says, and he takes a hand and runs it through his hair, and then asks, "Am I not good enough?"

"What?"

"Me, the guy sitting right in front of you—am I not good enough for you?"

"That's not what I meant," CeCe says, staring at him with wide eyes. "How could you—no. Gunther, you— No."

He's moved to hunch forward, his elbows on his knees, and he's looking at the ground, like he's trying to gather his bearings, but she can hear the anger and hurt when he says, "Fuck," under his breath. "Christ, CeCe," he says, looking up and moving over, and all the sudden he's pressing his forehead against her belly, and he's—he's crying. "CeCe, this is my kid. This is my daughter. How could you not tell me?"

CeCe stays as still as physically possible, terrified of moving and ruining this—delicate string she seems to be balancing on all the sudden. "I think—I didn't want things to change. I liked what we had. It was like, a box, and everything was supposed to stay in the box. But now, it's—I was scared you wouldn't care." Her voice is rough, chipped, from how much she's been crying lately. "At first I thought you wouldn't—care. Or—or you'd be mad. And then, you were just, you were being Gunther, my friend. Just my friend. I didn't want to lose that."

"Not telling me wasn't a good way of 'not losing that'. How do you even know, CeCe? That I'm the Dad?"

"You're the only one it could be," she says, still unmoving. "I've never—" She stops.

Gunther shakes his head, and sits up, keeping a hand on her stomach for a minute before tightening it into a fist and bringing back to his own lap. "So this whole time, I've been jealous of myself? That's awesome, just great."

"Gunther—"

"I've been in love with you since before I knew you were pregnant."

CeCe squeezes her eyes shut and then opens them slowly, and breathes carefully. "You're what?" She finally asks.

"I've been going mad. I've been freaking out over—over who the fucking sorry son of a bitch who'd gotten you pregnant and just—just left, was. And even though you were having somebody else's kid, I was still—I can't stop thinking about you, I can't—God—you have no idea how much I wanted to be the Dad. To have you. Both of you. You have no idea."

CeCe, still not having moved, asks, "You're in love with me?"

Gunther just looks at her, angry and—something. Finally he says, "CeCe."

She kisses him. It's probably stupid, but she can't help it. That's Gunther, and he's saying he's in love with her—or was in love, something, anything, it's more than friends, and more than friends-with-benefits, and more than a family forced together because of a baby, and she just—she kisses him.

He puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back after a moment, and then they're both—they're both all wide eyes and confusion. Gunther gets up, and puts a hand in the air, like "stop just, don't talk, give me time to think." CeCe doesn't stop him when he leaves the room, headed into the kitchen.

It's five o'clock in the morning according to the clock on the wall. She sits on the couch and holds her arms down, over her stomach, over the baby, just—protecting her, from all the—everything, right now.

Her mom eventually comes downstairs, dressed in her PJ's, looking for CeCe. She says, "Cecelia Jones," on the stairs, stopping to hold onto the railing, "if you don't get your rear-end back in bed right now—"

"Mom, I'm just—" she starts.

"You just came home from the hospital. I don't care if you didn't actually have the baby—you are not going to be awake and downstairs at five thirty in the morning while I am in this house. Bed, now."

She's totally planning on staying downstairs anyway—she's waiting for Gunther, right now, and she can't—she can't go to bed after—after everything that just happened. She just can't do that, she has to wait for him, for him to say something, tell her what they're doing, now.

"Come on, CeCe," Gunther says, from the kitchen doorway. "Your mom's right. You thought you were having a baby earlier today. You shouldn't be—you should be in bed."

He walks with her to her bedroom, and waits until she gets into bed, and then says, "Look—I'm very angry. But I'm still in love with you, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. If you want me to just be—an Uncle—no, I can't do that. What I mean is—"

"I don't want you to just be an Uncle, Gunther."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, but after what seems like forever, just staring at each other, he moves, slow, so unbelievably slow, down, and puts a hand on the bed next to her, pushing his weight against the mattress in order to press his mouth against hers. He pulls back.

"I love you," CeCe says, before he can say anything else—anything about—anything. "I think I've loved you for a really long time. I just—I didn't think about it, because that's not the sort of relationship we had, and I didn't want to get hurt. You say I'm amazing, or honest, or nice, or whatever, like all the time, Gunther, but I'm just—I'm really selfish."

"Why'd you decide to tell me?" he asks, brokenly.

"Because… because this is yours, all of it, everything."

He stands there for a long while, before finally walking to the other side of the bed and lying down. He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't know if he pulled it away or kept it there, because she was suddenly more exhausted than she'd probably ever felt in her life, and she fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

She wakes up because of a combination of things. The baby is kicking, telling her she's hungry, and would like breakfast, thank you very much. The light is coming in through the window, sliding right over her head, making her wince when she opens her eyes. And last, Gunther has his arm wrapped around her stomach, hand splayed against it, like he's trying to hold the baby.

CeCe doesn't move until the pressure of the baby gets to be too much on her bladder, and she's forced to slide out from under his arm and close the bedroom door carefully behind her as Gunther keeps sleeping, rolling into the spot she had just vacated, and walk down the hall to relieve herself. She stares in the mirror for a long while, dried tear marks still on her cheeks.

It only takes a minute for her to decide to take a shower, even though she's been paranoid ever since the doctor said hot water can hurt the baby and so only takes lukewarm baths and showers at the best of times. But she feels—she relishes in how the water beats against her face and shoulders, running down her back and chest and stomach. It's cleansing, in what feels like more ways than one. She wishes she could go for a run, her feet itching to tackle the sidewalk.

She settles for breakfast when she gets out of the shower, and Gunther has already gone downstairs.

"CeCe," her mom says, when she finally comes into the kitchen. "Scrambled, right? Your plate is on the table."

She's actually kind of been craving sunny side up, recently, but she normally likes scrambled, so she just sits down and grabs her fork. Her cravings are not the boss. They are not to be listened—

"You like this kind better, don't you?" Gunther asks, and grabs CeCe's plate, switching it with his own, sunny side up and toast with jelly on it already. He grabs the bacon though, and takes a bite. (The doctor said no bacon, period. She didn't know it mattered so much until after it was taken away. She doesn't even like bacon all that much.)

"Thanks," CeCe says, only pouting a little at the bacon. She puts an arm out to grab the syrup, and sees Flynn make a face at her that translates to "eeeeeeeeeeeeeew, syrup on eggs, my sister has gone crazy!" but whatever, it's not her fault, it tastes amazing, okay. She pours it on, and resists making a face at Flynn back.

Or at Gunther, who's staring at her.

And it's really, really awful and awkward and embarrassing to eat in front of the guy you're in love with when he's just staring at you. Like, CeCe is pretty sure her face is completely red, or something, and she's eating all slowly, because, well, why is Gunther staring at her eat eggs anyway? Nobody looks good while they're eating, except, like, maybe him, who always kind of seems like he's having fun eating, and, but that's not her, and she'd appreciate it if he would just. Turn around. Or something.

"CeCe?" Gunther says, eventually, and she regretfully looks up at him, "Hm?"

Gunther kisses her.

Oh gosh, Gunther is kissing her. In front of her mom. What, what? What?

He pulls back, and says, "Sorry, you had, uh, syrup, on your, uh—"

"Oh," she says. "I—um, thank you?"

Flynn snorts, and when their mom pushes him, he says, "What? We're all thinking the same thing. Fucking finally."

"Flynn!" Her mom yells, and CeCe puts her head down on the table. Gosh.

"Hey," Gunther says, nudging her up. "Was that okay? I'm kind of—still confused, here."

She shakes her head, "It's okay. It's definitely okay."

—–—–—

"And you're sure you're going to be fine?" her mom asks one last time, as Flynn waves and goes out to their car.

"Yes, mom, I'll be okay. You're only 25 minutes away. And Gunther is here, so, it'll be fine."

She makes a hm sound and then kisses her on the forehead. "I'll call you when we get home, and if you're doing anything but sitting and watching TV, I'm coming right back here, you understand?"

"Yes, mom, go, we're going to be fine!"

They close the door and CeCe collapses on the couch. Gunther chuckles and says, "Family is exhausting, baybee."

She smiles at him, and his grin falls. "Alright, baybee—CeCe. This is, this is serious, right?" he's serious, the way his eyes are pointed and his mouth a fine line. He's looking right at her. "This isn't going in a freaking box, CeCe."

She closes her eyes and struggles for a minute to get up—big belly, always in the way—before leaning over to kiss him and say, "Yes," against his mouth. She backs up, "If—if that's okay?"

He just looks at her until she flushes again, and then he runs a hand down her shoulder, down her arm and to her stomach. "Can I—"

CeCe makes an uncomfortable sound, and says, "It's not pretty."

He slowly pushes her shirt up anyway, revealing the tightly expanded skin, tan and stretching compared to Gunther's paler hand now pressing against it. "CeCe, you're beautiful," he says, suddenly, and looks up at her face. She bites her lip. Gunther says, honest and open, "CeCe—let's do this. You and me—and her."

CeCe can't really help it when she pushes Gunther down and kisses him.

He kisses back, hot and surging, making her sigh and give in when he starts mouthing at her jaw line and down her throat slowly, pecking kisses the entire way. She squeals when he pushes up with his leg, brushing purposefully in-between her thighs and—

"We are not having sex," CeCe says, already feeling the way Gunther's hand is slipping at the waistband of her jeans.

"Then why did you push me down on the couch?" he asks, still smiling a little, splaying his hand against her back instead.

His fingers make her shiver with the touch, and she takes a deep breath. "I really want to. But no."

"Your emotions are so confusing," he groans out, and adjusts underneath her right as she bursts out into laughter and rolls over a little, barely fitting on the couch, neither of them falling off. She keeps laughing for a long time, and Gunther is just smiling bemusedly at her when she finally stops and looks back up.

She bites her lip and pushes up with her elbows on the couch, and then presses down to say, "You, um, have no idea," and then kisses him again, smiling into it when Gunther does, and they both break off into laughter again after a moment, because kissing and smiling at the same time is—it's kind of amazing.


	16. Chapter 16

It feels the same it did when Gunther was in New York, CeCe thinks. The short little bursts of hot pain in her lower abdomen. At first it was just one or two, and she was decidedly ignoring them because she didn't want to go to the hospital fifteen times to be told "false alarm, stop worrying" again and again. But they're still there, now, and they hurt.

"Gunther," She says, whispering through the dark bedroom. He is curled next to her, an arm thrown over her chest kind of awkwardly—and yet comfortingly, how does that even work? "Gunther!" she says again, and pushes at his shoulder.

"Mwah?" He says, cracking his eyes open. "Wha—wha' you need?"

"I think we need to go to the hospital."

—

CeCe wakes up slowly. There's a blinking light next to her, hooked up to a machine, and she has to force her eyes open all the way in the semi-dark room. Hospital room, she thinks, hazily, and it's not actually dark, just—the curtains are drawn closed around her. She can hear people talking. "Six pounds, nine ounces," a voice says, and David thinks that sounds like—Tinka? "She's such a little girl."

She's such a little girl.

She jerks fully awake, and says, "Gunther—" before someone yells and there's movement and the curtains are pulled open.

She sees Gunther, first, and lets out a long breath when the man comes over and grabs her hand, grinning. "And sleeping beauty awakes," he says, happily. CeCe smiles back kind of simply, and closes her eyes for a minute. She's really—tired. She must still be out of it from the surgery, she thinks, and then jerks her eyes open again. "The—where is she?"

Gunther's smile gets bigger, and he says, "Sister Twin!"

Tinka comes closer, holding something small, and—and tiny, and—in a little, little pink blanket. She hands her carefully to Cook, who holds out his arms just as carefully, and CeCe can hear a short—that was a whimper, a little cry, from, from the baby, and—"Here, CeCe, look. You did it, she's beautiful."

He's bending down a little, and she sees a little wrinkled face, pink and—and squishy looking, somehow, with tufts of light hair on her head. Her eyes are closed, and she's—she's beautiful, Gunther is right, she's beautiful.

"Can I—please—" CeCe says, holding up an arm, and Gunther nods fast, moving to gently place the baby in her arms. She moves her elbow to support the baby's head, and then, just—she's so small, and warm, and—"You are awful small, hm?" she says, quietly, talking to the baby, seemingly sleeping. She smiles. "You're awful cute too." She adds, when she feels Gunther put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently, "Kinda' like your dad."

Gunther lets out a surprised laugh, and the baby squirms. "I don't know," he says. "I think she looks like you, CeCe."

She smiles, still looking at the baby. "You think?"

He leans down and puts a hand on CeCe's cheek, turning her face upward so that he can kiss her.

"Alright you two," CeCe's mom says, suddenly, and she jerks away from Gunther, holding the baby a little tighter.

"Mom?" she asks. She hadn't even realized she was there. She looks around the room, and realizes that there are actually a lot of people other than Gunther and the baby in the room, including her mom and Flynn, and Tinka and Ty.

"Hey, baby," her mom says, coming up and brushing a hand through her hair, smiling. "What's the baby's name?"

"Oh," CeCe says, and looks at the baby, and then at Gunther. "We never—Gunther."

"I don't know," he says back, looking at the baby. "Never ended up deciding on a name, did you, CeCe?"

She looks at the baby for a few minutes, and lets a finger slip into the tiny little grip, really—strong, stronger than she'd expected. She's just, it doesn't matter, what the baby's name is, she's theirs, hers and Gunther's. "You pick," CeCe says, quietly. She looks up at him, "Please, Gunther."

Gunther looks at them both for a minute, and eventually says, "Isla? I know you were thinking about Ellie—"

"No," CeCe interrupts, and looks at the baby again. "I—I like Isla."


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue

CeCe is holding Isla cautiously when they go into the house for the first time since she's been born. She's still—she's still tiny and small and fragile, and CeCe can't really—she just feels like she needs to be holding her all the time. The dog barks from under her feet, and CeCe says, "Gunther!" quietly. Gunther puts the car seat on the floor and dumps the diaper bag next to it, and then grins and grabs the pup and lifts him up.

The dog whines and stretches out from his arm, trying to sniff at the baby. CeCe jerks back at first, but then, slowly, and carefully, brings Isla close enough that pup can smell her, practically pushing his nose against her face. "Dubs, meet Isla. Isla, meet Dubs. You two are going to be best friends as soon as you're allowed to get up to no good together," Gunther says quietly, grinning. He pulls Dubs back and the dog sneezes. CeCe holds back a laugh and Gunther shakes his head, putting the dog back on the floor.

"Put her in the crib?" he says, whispering. She nods back, and slowly makes her way up the stairs, into the little room next to hers and Gunther's. Or, well, hers—Gunther doesn't technically live with her, she's not really sure how that's going to work out. She settles Isla down in the crib, thankful that the wrap the nurse had put her in is still in-tact, because she's not sure she'd be able to repeat it. She turns on the baby monitor and slowly backs out of the room after pushing a short kiss to Isla's forehead.

When she gets back downstairs, Gunther is sitting on the couch, all spread out, looking exhausted. He smiles lazily and she sits down next to him, groaning a little. The stitches from the C-Section still hurt, but she doesn't mind when Gunther tugs her in closer, under his arm. "I love you," he says, eyes closed.

"Mm," CeCe agrees, half-asleep already.

Of course that's when the baby monitor comes to life and a little cry filters out through it.

"And the pain begins," Gunther mutters, and CeCe hits him in the arm as she gets up.


End file.
